This actually isn't written by me, but I thought I'd share it over here:
Old Man Jenkins lived on his own in that little habitat, far off from the main settlement. He said that he preferred the peace and quiet. Still, he was old, wise... Many of the settlers would venture up the forest path to that small house to seek his help. He was knowledgeable; alright… he knew his herbs. He would concoct these brews that could remove a man’s spots, cool down a woman’s burning head and help a young one breathe again.
Old Man Jenkins was a smart one. He always had this book with him, and he would write in it while sitting in front of his habitat. It was small, about the size of his hand, and he wrote carefully into it. He would never let us see what was in it, though. We ask, he smiles and puts it aside.
Some said that Old Man Jenkins used to have a family, a loving wife and two youngin’s. No one knows what happened to them. We knew he missed them, though. He said Sam was just like his boy, always curious, always asking questions. Angelica was like his girl, so pretty, so full of life. When we asked, what happened to them? He would give us a sad smile, shake his head, and duck back into the house.
No one has ever seen the inside of his house. It was always dark. When we tried to go closer, he would shoo us off, always with that smile of his. One time, we thought we heard a cry come from within like a wounded animal, but Old Man Jenkins smiled, closed the door and said it was just the wind. He told us never to try and peek inside.
Like that would stop any of us. One day, when he was behind the house, tending to some of his herbs, I got up close to the door and peeped in. I could have sworn I’ve seen the figure of a woman when the door slammed shut. I looked up to see Old Man Jenkin’s face, no longer smiling. What do you think you’re doing, he demanded.
Was that your wife? I asked.
His face paled.
I pressed on, that woman in there, how come we’ve never seen her?
Old Man Jenkins opened and closed his mouth, but then returned to his kindly smile. He straightened, patted my head and said, yes, that was my wife. She was the bravest woman I had ever known, now go on home.
Soon after, a strange thing started happened. Sam was burning. He wouldn’t calm down at all. We brought him up to Old Man Jenkins. He brought Sam into his house, which was strange since he never treated us inside before. One week later, Sam’s parents came up to our home, crying. Our little Sam is dead, they moaned. Old Man Jenkins had killed him! He wouldn’t even let us see the body!
It was revenge, they said. Didn’t Old Man Jenkins say that Sam was just like his son? He wants to bring back his own son, but killed Sam in some daemonic ritual!
The room went quiet, and then everyone started talking at the same time. Remember that time he greeted us with red stained hands? He said he was preparing meat for the winter! That book he was always seen with? He must be reading heretical spells! How about how he never greets us with the Emperor’s blessing? It must burn him to speak the Emperor’s holy name!
The next night, three men in black capes and wide brimmed hats marched up that forest path. Little Wilkins, ever the curious lad, followed closely behind. He said that the men looked mean, one of them held a fierce looking staff that crackled with energy. Another held a great big torch, the burning flame hurting his eyes. The last cradled a giant, leather-bound book under his arms. Wilkins thought he saw the reflection of a golden ‘I’ in the torch light.
The next day, a notice was distributed to all of the settlers. Old Man Jenkins had been charged on several counts of witchcraft, heresy and consorting with daemons. When the Inquisition marched up his home, he charged out, conjuring bolts of lightning and summoning creatures from the darkness. Resisting arrest, the notice had said. “Faith protected the Emperor’s servants” and Old Man Jenkins was executed for his crimes on the spot.
I didn’t think that Old Man Jenkins was a bad man – he was always smiling. I went up to his house a week after, and I had brought a basket of lilies… he loved them so. I left them by the porch, and noticed that the door was ajar. All the tales spoken of that night returned to me, but I didn’t care. I was curious. I opened the door and stepped in.
.
.
.
Everything looked normal. Clean. It looked almost exactly like my own home, except for the giant painting of a woman in Imperial Guard dress uniform that hung in front of the door. The woman had a stern frown, with her black hair tied up into a bun behind her, but she had kind eyes. A small plaque on the side read,
“Colonel Lily Jenkins. Hero of Belforvis Refinery. Executed for witchcraft.”
I spotted the little book on a table nearby, the one he had always carried around. I picked it up, flipped it to the last page and read.
“Today, they will come for me, much like how they had come for my dear Lily… They said that no one could have fought off so many heretics and survived, so she must have struck a deal with a daemon. I regret not being home when the witchhunters came… I had returned to the burning remains of my old home, and the smouldering bodies of my children, hung by the neck outside, in the garden they so loved to play in.
I had tried to make a new life for myself on this planet, but I know they are looking for me. Now that I have failed to save young Sam’s life, it is all the excuse they need to finish the job. I have buried the young one’s body, but his parents came knocking on my door. Now the witchhunters must surely know I’m here. I would have prayed to the Emperor on this night…
… But if the Emperor couldn’t protect my family, how could he protect me…?“
Old Man Jenkins lived on his own in that little habitat, far off from the main settlement. He said that he preferred the peace and quiet. Still, he was old, wise... Many of the settlers would venture up the forest path to that small house to seek his help. He was knowledgeable; alright… he knew his herbs. He would concoct these brews that could remove a man’s spots, cool down a woman’s burning head and help a young one breathe again.
Old Man Jenkins was a smart one. He always had this book with him, and he would write in it while sitting in front of his habitat. It was small, about the size of his hand, and he wrote carefully into it. He would never let us see what was in it, though. We ask, he smiles and puts it aside.
Some said that Old Man Jenkins used to have a family, a loving wife and two youngin’s. No one knows what happened to them. We knew he missed them, though. He said Sam was just like his boy, always curious, always asking questions. Angelica was like his girl, so pretty, so full of life. When we asked, what happened to them? He would give us a sad smile, shake his head, and duck back into the house.
No one has ever seen the inside of his house. It was always dark. When we tried to go closer, he would shoo us off, always with that smile of his. One time, we thought we heard a cry come from within like a wounded animal, but Old Man Jenkins smiled, closed the door and said it was just the wind. He told us never to try and peek inside.
Like that would stop any of us. One day, when he was behind the house, tending to some of his herbs, I got up close to the door and peeped in. I could have sworn I’ve seen the figure of a woman when the door slammed shut. I looked up to see Old Man Jenkin’s face, no longer smiling. What do you think you’re doing, he demanded.
Was that your wife? I asked.
His face paled.
I pressed on, that woman in there, how come we’ve never seen her?
Old Man Jenkins opened and closed his mouth, but then returned to his kindly smile. He straightened, patted my head and said, yes, that was my wife. She was the bravest woman I had ever known, now go on home.
Soon after, a strange thing started happened. Sam was burning. He wouldn’t calm down at all. We brought him up to Old Man Jenkins. He brought Sam into his house, which was strange since he never treated us inside before. One week later, Sam’s parents came up to our home, crying. Our little Sam is dead, they moaned. Old Man Jenkins had killed him! He wouldn’t even let us see the body!
It was revenge, they said. Didn’t Old Man Jenkins say that Sam was just like his son? He wants to bring back his own son, but killed Sam in some daemonic ritual!
The room went quiet, and then everyone started talking at the same time. Remember that time he greeted us with red stained hands? He said he was preparing meat for the winter! That book he was always seen with? He must be reading heretical spells! How about how he never greets us with the Emperor’s blessing? It must burn him to speak the Emperor’s holy name!
The next night, three men in black capes and wide brimmed hats marched up that forest path. Little Wilkins, ever the curious lad, followed closely behind. He said that the men looked mean, one of them held a fierce looking staff that crackled with energy. Another held a great big torch, the burning flame hurting his eyes. The last cradled a giant, leather-bound book under his arms. Wilkins thought he saw the reflection of a golden ‘I’ in the torch light.
The next day, a notice was distributed to all of the settlers. Old Man Jenkins had been charged on several counts of witchcraft, heresy and consorting with daemons. When the Inquisition marched up his home, he charged out, conjuring bolts of lightning and summoning creatures from the darkness. Resisting arrest, the notice had said. “Faith protected the Emperor’s servants” and Old Man Jenkins was executed for his crimes on the spot.
I didn’t think that Old Man Jenkins was a bad man – he was always smiling. I went up to his house a week after, and I had brought a basket of lilies… he loved them so. I left them by the porch, and noticed that the door was ajar. All the tales spoken of that night returned to me, but I didn’t care. I was curious. I opened the door and stepped in.
.
.
.
Everything looked normal. Clean. It looked almost exactly like my own home, except for the giant painting of a woman in Imperial Guard dress uniform that hung in front of the door. The woman had a stern frown, with her black hair tied up into a bun behind her, but she had kind eyes. A small plaque on the side read,
“Colonel Lily Jenkins. Hero of Belforvis Refinery. Executed for witchcraft.”
I spotted the little book on a table nearby, the one he had always carried around. I picked it up, flipped it to the last page and read.
“Today, they will come for me, much like how they had come for my dear Lily… They said that no one could have fought off so many heretics and survived, so she must have struck a deal with a daemon. I regret not being home when the witchhunters came… I had returned to the burning remains of my old home, and the smouldering bodies of my children, hung by the neck outside, in the garden they so loved to play in.
I had tried to make a new life for myself on this planet, but I know they are looking for me. Now that I have failed to save young Sam’s life, it is all the excuse they need to finish the job. I have buried the young one’s body, but his parents came knocking on my door. Now the witchhunters must surely know I’m here. I would have prayed to the Emperor on this night…
… But if the Emperor couldn’t protect my family, how could he protect me…?“
