The peat squelched beneath his boots, dragging him down, nearby bluebells knelling their silent song. The wind sliced his face and dragged his black hair back from his scalp. Michael Flaherty yanked his foot out of the bog hole and trudged on, on and on, slane in hand. Turf needed to be cut.

 

Jack Frost had visited last night, he was sure of it. He shivered inside his coat.

There was something in front of him. Something small. It jutted out of the ground as if newly pushed back up to the light. Its hair was copper coloured, stringy. A tattered dress hung off its frame, a feast for insects. A doll.

 

Bending down to pick it up, he chuckled. He hadn’t seen a doll like this for years. It was something his sister Sheila would have played with as a child, years ago. He pocketed it. Sure, maybe Beibheann would like it.

 

Its eyes gazed at him, mournfully, unblinking, still and silent.

 

 

It was when he swung the slane into the ground that his first visitor arrived.

It was a child.

A boy.

No more than four or five.

Michael strode over to him.

 

“Are you alright? Where are your parents? What’s your name?”

 

He just looked at him.  Staring.

 

He seemed to bore right through him, gazing at him. He seemed to be more full of answers than questions, content to confuse.

 

He pointed behind himself and whispered, “They’re coming.”

What’s coming?

Who is this kid?

Why was his watch so heavy?

 

The watch on his wrist was pressing down into his skin. The time between the Tick Tock grew steadily slower, if that were possible. Tick.. Tock… Tick..Tock matching his every step further and further, deeper and deeper into the bog.

 

The moon was shining brightly, the ground looked surreal under its glow. A faerie land, nightmarish. Even the peat had a grey tint, paler, dead.

 

The child was still pointing. But he started to turn. Turn and point. Point at Michael. No, behind him.

 

His watch was so heavy.

His boots were getting stuck.

It was so cold.

He turned around.

 

Like crooked puppets, they staggered towards him, dragging one broken leg after the after. The bones knocked against each other, jutting out of their mud-caked skin. One by one, all different heights, they stalked towards him. Closer and closer and closer.

He could see their faces…

Their eyes! Where were their eyes?!

 

On broken bones, half ripped, rotten flesh, maggots feasting upon the walking corpses.

The child was still pointing.

 

“The bog man controls us. The bog preserves.”

 

Michael staggered back. Back and tripped.

He was drowning, bog surrounded and peat permeated. It was soaking, crawling under his skin, the dirty clumps clogging his arteries like a parasite’s eggs.

He was drowning.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t-

He-

It burned.

 

The bog swallowed him whole.

Sliding down the gullet of a long-preserved graveyard.

 

I woke up to silence. I wasn’t in my own house; no, this house was incredibly colder. When I exhaled, I could see my breath dancing around me and then fading away a few seconds later. My breath had a stench to it, so I knew my teeth hadn’t been brushed for a while.  My stomach let out a hungry roar which I immediately had to clinch because of the pain. I turned my body to let my legs dangle at the side of the bed. I attempted to stand on them but as soon as my feet touched the cold wooden floor, I lost all strength in them and fell to the ground. Desperate, I looked around for something I could use to help me get back up- curtains! I used all my willpower to crawl across the damp, rough floor to the curtains on the other side of the room. Upon reaching my destination, I grabbed hold of the course drapes and brought myself to my feet which felt like an eternity to accomplish.

Upon accomplishing my goal, I pulled back the curtains and wiped the condensation off the cold glass to reveal a nauseating sight. The surrounding landscape was covered in a thick blanket of snow. At that moment no other colours bar white existed. I couldn’t make out any other structures or objects other than what looked to be a thick forest of coniferous trees surrounding the cabin I was currently trapped in. The hairs on my arm stood up and I want to puke but I physically couldn’t.  

I slowly shuffled over to the sink that was beside my bed just in case some vomit miraculously exited my system. I looked up to find a mirror covered in a layer of condensation like the window. I rubbed my hand against the mirror to clear it. It revealed a more frightening sight than I had just seen. It showed me with crusty blood covering more than half my face and my t-shirts were painted in a mixture of dry dark-red blood and vomit that could have been there for days or even weeks!

I urgently turned the tap and water started to pour out an irritatingly slow pace. I scrubbed my face as hard as I could but failed to remove the majority of the dried blood. A state of panic overcame me as my arms started to shake violently and my legs became weak once again causing me to stumble back against the wall, I took some deep breaths and regained my composer.

I left the room and made my way outside. The snow covered my legs right up to my knees. I made my way around to the back of the cabin to find a horrific sight. A mutilated body lay on the ground collecting the snow, the blood was fresh, so the killer was nearby. I screamed in panic, but I don’t know what was more fighting the reply or the echo.