Page 14 of Sins of the Stone

Ursulette gave him a nod and headed towards the village, dirt crunching beneath her feet. Each hesitant step only compounded her worry as the faint smell of wet ash pricked her nose. Ramuz followed shortly behind, seemingly giving her the space she needed. Before lifting her eyes from the crumbling ground below, she sighed deeply, nibbling her lip. Her heart thudded in her core like a violent drum.

A charred plank at her feet stopped her in her tracks. Thinking back, a vision struck her, recalling the haunting screams that burrowed their way into her memory. It felt like a parasite slowly worming into her brain, devouring every positive memory and replacing them with horror. Soon, Ramuz was at her side, setting a clawed hand on her shoulder. Their eyes met, hers filling with tears.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for this,” she said.

“We can come back—”

Ursulette shook her head vigorously, trying to quell her sorrows. Ramuz nodded again, acknowledging her commitment. The wind picked up, delivering a storm of ash along with the unmistakable stench of decay. Her eyes widened, sending her hand over her face as another round of tears welled along her eyelids. She stifled a gag as her face twisted. Ramuz opened his mouth to speak, but Ursulette interrupted.

“I have to do this,” she asserted. “Running away again won’t help me.”

“I understand.”

Her bottom lip quivered again. “I-I, um, don’t want to cry in front of you,” she said, her speech wavering with her crumbling emotions. “Again.” He offered a somber smile.

“If you need me, I will be here, Ursulette.” Her heart swelled with emotion, and she returned his generous expression. With that, he turned away, leaving her to process whatever heartache awaited. Ursulette took a hesitant step, feeling as if her shoes were encased in stone. Dragging her feet, she approached the edge of the village.

She spotted a cracked gargoyle statue from the corner of her eye. There were splotches of black ash coating one side, while a large shard was taken out of the center, leaving a V-shaped gap where the face should be. The sight made a shiver crawl down her spine, but she pushed on.

After taking one last calming breath, she lifted her head. Any word or noise she tried to make caught in her throat like someone had ripped the breath straight from her lungs.

What lay in front of her was the single most horrifying sight she had ever seen. Every house was dark with char—if they were standing at all. More often than not, what was previously a home was now a pile of cinders, each jagged edge tipped with a crispy snow white.

On the few houses not kissed with fire was something arguably worse. Splats of dark brown-red liquid were splashed along everything like a coat of morbid paint. Even worse was the scatter of cadavers lying lifelessly about the village. A strange buzzing was ringing in her ears. Before, she thought it was a surge of emotion. Now she realized it was the cloud of insects that were feasting on the rotting remains of the townsfolk.

Fighting back another gag, her eyes caught on a bloated corpse. They were so hued with unnatural shades that it was hard to discern the gender or race of the person. Ursulette covered her mouth again, both holding back vomit and a scream that would surely rip her vocal cords.

She was also concerned about spooking Ramuz, knowing that if he sensed danger, he would come running. With her gaze locked on the corpse that was once a human being, she felt hot tears streaming down her rosy cheeks. Unable to bear the sight anymore, she turned away.

Moving on, she wandered down the path, heading to the library. She hoped trying to savesomethingwould lift her spirits. Unfortunately, she only found more destruction as she was reaching the center of the village. More cadavers, blackened houses, and ruin. There was not a living being left, at least, not residing here. She knew there would be survivors, but judging by the sheer number of bodies, there wouldn’t be many.

Making her way down the path, she noticed each bundle of decay drawing her red-tinted eyes. It was human nature to be attracted to catastrophe.Each carcass only hammered home the reality, compounding the growing numbness in her soul.

Finally, she made her way to the town center, her eyes catching on the gallows that, ironically, remained untouched. She felt her shoulders droop at the stark reminder of death that exacerbated the tears she was trying so desperately to hold back. Even though they hadn’t used the gallows in many years, they remained tall, a proclamation of death above the sea of destruction.

Beside the ominous nooses was the half-demolished jail. Of course, the cells were still standing and exposed to the elements. She shivered, thinking about how terrible it was that two structures that represented the end of life and imprisonment were still together.

Hoping to draw herself out of the horror, she entered the library with unsavory results. Everything was coated in black—everything that wasn’t reduced to ash. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much left. Only the little counter that Maritza used to nestle behind remained with a small stack of dust-covered books beneath it.

The book she returned right before the massacre was sitting on top. She scooped the stack up, her face flushing with the memory. There was little time to reminisce as she returned to meet with Ramuz. She maintained her composure thus far and didn’t want to ruin her streak by mourning the place she loved so much.

Wiping away another tear, she exited. She circled past the gallows, feeling as if they had eyes and were watching her—taunting her. Recovering the books didn’t make her feel better. In fact, it made her feel worse, remembering that if she and Ramuz were caught together, it would end poorly for both of them.

She almost imagined herself dangling from those ropes, her face swelling with blue until she expired. She gulped, picking up her pace. There was enough despair entangling her. She didn’t need to think about her own demise.

Ursulette continued, hoping to make it back to her house. If she was lucky, maybe she could salvage something. Though her hopes weren’t high, shehurried along, praying her eyes wouldn’t stick to any more corpses. She was quite successful at first until a mass blocked her route. She approached it, feeling like an invisible hand was choking her. The familiar stench of decay dug its claws into her brain.

As she advanced upon the object, a sick feeling wrenched her stomach. She knew what it was but didn’t want to admit it. She tried to pretend this was just a vile nightmare and that she would wake up in a sweat. Then, she could move on with her day, and everything would go back to normal. A scream shattered the buzzing silence, making her heart jolt. It was only when she felt her throat burning that she realized the sound was coming fromher.

“Oh, my gods!” she cried. It was a sight that would plague her for the remainder of her days. The unmistakable shape of a mother clutching a motionless, pale child was seared into her memory, each one brimming with different hues of death—blues, purples, browns.

The mother’s eyes were hard to miss, pulled wide with fear, the whites now rust-colored.Even worse, the distinct look of torn bite marks was pressed into the mother’s skin, culminating with a jagged tear across her neck.

Ursulette’s shriek reverberated through the empty village, only accentuated by the squirming insects leaving a train of green-brown slime behind as they traveled across their pasty, flaking skin. Losing her composure, she dropped the books as a familiar noise resounded from behind.

“Ursulette!” Ramuz called, his voice flecked with concern. One of the books flopped onto the corpse, causing a layer of skin to slough off the leg, sending the maggots into a frenzy. She sucked in another breath just to continue screaming as he yanked her away.

“It’s a baby, it’s afuckingbaby!” Ursulette continued to shout even after her face was buried in his stony chest. She gripped him as her wails transformed into hysterical sobs. All of her pent-up emotions were spilling out in a single grotesque display. Self-consciousness about crying was the last thing on her mind.

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