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o Goll! Would you stop daydreaming for a second and get this roof done?o Conan says, snapping me out of a trance. I was admiring the sky, gazing at the stars before a block of clouds sadly obscures them. A view of the heavens wono t be ours tonight. Unusually for this time of year, a stormo s on its way. My brother, Conan, whoo s sitting just below me at a desk in his new room, wants his roof completed before the rains arrive.



o If you want something building so quickly, build it yourself,o I say. o I was under the impression it was your hut.o



o Well, if you want that iron you so desperately needo ¦o he says with a smirk.



Ito s not a big deal, I think. At least I dono t have any other jobs right now, and thanks to the moon ito s bright: good conditions for building. But as I place the last block, I realise that yet another house has been completed. I dono t like it. With over 50 homes accommodating nearly 200 residents, the village of Mirithtia is spreading like an out-of-control plague, taking over the short supply of land and squeezing us into ever tighter conditions. I can feel the lanes getting closer and darker, enhancing my worrying sense of claustrophobia. I have to contribute and help with the construction, but I dono t know how much longer Io ll be able to cope.



o Much appreciated, brother!o Conan shouts brightly, knocking on his ceiling directly beneath me.



o See you in a week when you move back in,o I retort, only half-joking. He probably cano t hear me. Mother says heo s too young to live alone, and shouldno t be leaving the family house with the growing threat of mobs in the country. Although I laugh about it with Conan, I share her concerns, wishing heo d stayed for just another half-year. But he has a mind of his own; we cano t stop him flying the nest.



I sigh and start to climb down, carrying some leftover supplies with me. Ito s not steep or particularly high, but still I take caution. I pause to take in the view, then turn around and start climbing the ladder to the ground 3 metres below.



Before my foot hits the second rung, I hear a scream. A terrible, ear-splitting shriek that pierces the night. A volley of horrific sounds, mingling as one. Where is it coming from? I look around frantically, frozen on my perch. No one in sight. But the scream goes on. And ito s coming from all around me, from everywhere. How?



Suddenly, thereo s something green. Something with slimy square scales. I catch only a glimpse before it swiftly disappears around the corner. Ito s enough for me to shout a warning.



o CONAN!o I roar, far too late. The creeper explodes and I fall into darkness.











Not a second later. As my eyes clear, I see blood spitting from my limbs, flowing into the mud along with the creepero s bubbling pus. My hands took the most damage. I can barely move them, but there are far greater horrors for me now. My brothero s house, along with half of the neighbouring hut, is a pile of rubble. Nothing left.



o Conan!o I gasp, unable to see any sign of him. Scrabbling out of the crater. Dono t make it very far. I grunt in pain and collapse into the crater of ruins. Among the stones,

mud and splinters is a note, which I reluctantly, painfully reach for. On the piece of charred, torn paper is a single sentence, that reads: o Do not look at him if you can see him.o

The words chill me to my very core.



Not because it hurts to pick it up. Not because it doesn't make sense. Not because of anything, except the fact that ito s written in my handwriting.



How is this possible? I almost hiss the question aloud as tears of all-consuming terror and agony spring to my eyes. Ito s too much. First the scream and the creeper somehow breaching the outer defences, Conano s disappearance and now this. Four impossible things in a night. It has to be a nightmare. It has to be. Io m so tired.



The village is on fire. Hours and hours of work burned down in a matter of minutes. At least two or three explosions happened. Chaos has brought it back to life. I hear the flames raging, the horrified screams of women, the crying of defenceless children and the panicked shouts of the men. I drag myself up, so I can see just over the lip of my crater. People are running and roaring in terror. No sign of Conan, or anyone from my family. Too painful to do anything, let alone go and find them. I see the need to get buckets of water and to save children, but what are they running from? What the hell is going on?



A monster answers my question. It appears at the end of the lane and slowly turns its grisly head. Ito s looking at me. As it advances, I fixate on it in fascinated horror, examining it as it moves closer and displays ever greater, ghoulish detail. Not a zombie or a skeleton. Ito s not just a mob. Ito s a bloody concoction of every kind of mob in existence. Ito s human shaped, but strips of slimy green flesh hang over its grey rib-cage. The face is also flat and grey. Bones are visible everywhere. Its eyes are pools of oil. This beast, and Io m sure ito s not the only one here, whatever it may be, comes from the very lowest depths of demonic hell.



And ito s coming for me.



Helpo s not on its way. Everyone has their own problem, their own monster to run from. I take no satisfaction in seeing Bolan, the village blacksmith, as he runs across the lane just a dozen yards away. He couldn't have saved me anyway; he had no weapons, looked like he had a limp and two of the beasts were hot on his tail. Heo s as doomed as I am. I watch helplessly from my pit as the beast stumbles and lurches forward. It seems to cackle to itself, then moans and gurgles with delight, drawing out the moments of pleasure as it sniffs my blood. All of a sudden, sanity takes hold and Io m mustering the effort to drag myself across the crater, in spite of my ripped palms, a splinter the length of my finger sticking out of my thigh and a worryingly deep cut above my ankle, which is exposed by huge rips in my boots and trousers. I brush locks of brown hair from my forehead and, fueled by adrenaline, manage to pull myself over the other side, gasping for breath.



It all happens very quickly after that. I only crawl a few yards before the thing grabs me by the neck and throws me at a nearby well. Io m underwater. Water stinging my wounds. Every limb hurts. Blinded by bubbles and dirt. A bony green hand yanks me up, and a hideous face is instantly breathing into my spluttering mouth as I thrash in the waist-deep water. Teeth and claws surround me, flashing and swiping. The creature has me in its clutches. This is it. No way out.



I open my mouth to scream.

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To be continuedo ¦

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o Will Goll survive and find his brother? Can he find the meaning of the note and save his village?



o Find out in Part IIo coming 1 June!



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