The Last Musician. Jason Peterson

As the group watched out of Horace’s window, they saw once peaceful members of Greenwood’s community fighting amongst themselves. At first it was only words, but it wasn’t long before those words turned to punches.

      Kristoffer slumped down on to the floor, wondering how long it would be before those people remembered who they hated the most.

      4

      “Let’s review what we know,” said Carl Anderson.

      The seven sat around Horace Heckle’s coffee table sipping tea and eating stale cookies Horace had dug up from some musty cupboard in his musty house. Elders Anderson, Rogers, Heckle, Davis, and Scopes loomed over one side of the table, while Ethel and Kristoffer sat at the other. Kristoffer tried not to stare at Elder Anderson’s toupee, which had become even more askew in the hasty exit.

      “We’ve already reviewed what we know, Anderson,” said Elder Rogers. “It isn’t much.”

      Ethel and Kristoffer glanced at each other. They had never sat so close to the council of elders, and they had never heard any of them snap at each other.

      “We know about the music, or don’t know, I guess,” said Elder Scopes. “But what about this violence?”

      “If I’m being honest with you all, and I think we all should be, I’ll admit I felt the same anger towards Kristoffer as did most of the crowd, apparently,” said Elder Davis.

      Kristoffer couldn’t believe it. Elder Missy Davis looked as though she had never felt a twinge of anger in her life.

      “I felt like throwing a rock at you myself,” Elder Scopes said. “If we’re being honest.”

      The rest of the group nodded their heads, except for Ethel, who looked as though she was about to be sick. And she hadn’t even had a cookie yet.

      “I felt it too, Kris,” Ethel said, turning to face him. “I didn’t want to admit it to you, or even to myself, but I did.”

      Kristoffer dropped his chin to his chest, and for the first time that day, began to cry.

      “I’m so sorry,” Ethel said.

      “Kristoffer, why don’t you tell us what happened today,” said Elder Anderson. “When did you realize you could still play music?”

      Kristoffer wiped his eyes and took a deep breath. He hated talking in front of other people, and he felt the gaze of the five most important people in Greenwood bearing into him.

      “It’s okay, Kris,” Ethel said, taking his hand. “Go on.”

      “It wasn’t some grand realization or anything. I was playing guitar by the lake like I do every day when I heard people coming out of the theater talking about the music disappearing. I walked along with everyone while they kept trying to play and sing. I felt weird because I knew I still could, but I didn’t want to say anything. Then I guess I started to feel good about it. Proud. Like I was special. That’s why I spoke up at the town hall. I wanted to show off.”

      Kristoffer lowered his head again.

      “I wish I would’ve kept it to myself.”

      Kristoffer looked around at the council of elders and saw the sympathy in their eyes. It was almost worse than the anger. He didn’t want pity. He didn’t want anything but for this nightmare to be over. His eyes met Horace Heckle’s, the only member of the council who did not look sympathetic. Kristoffer watched as Elder Heckle struggled to his feet and shuffled over to a picture hanging in the middle of the living room wall.

      Horace swung the picture open, revealing a safe behind it.

      “Ethel,” he said, as everyone in the room fixated on the wall. “It is time we told Kristoffer the truth.”

      5

      Darkness covered the forest like moss over a stone. It did not matter what time of day or night it was, the darkness held fast, and this was why Alistair Vull liked the forest so very much. He loved the darkness.

      Alistair drew a long, sharp blade from his belt and wedged it between two of his long, sharp teeth. He pulled out the squishy remains of lunch – a bunny he and Ogg had stumbled across earlier – and flicked it to the ground.

      “You not finish?” Ogg said, picking up the discarded piece with his club-like fingers and tossing it into his mouth. “Ogg finish.”

      Alistair resisted the urge to gag. He may have been a cold, ruthless killer without conscious or scruples, but he was not a barbarian. Ogg, however, was.

      As the two walked through the forest, Alistair contemplated just how he had gotten mixed up in this business in the first place with this horrible, horrible creature next to him.

      The instructions from the figure in black had been simple: find someone whose strength far outmatches his wit. Retrieve a heavy bag from the muses on the outskirts of Greenwood. Do not open the bag under any circumstances. Bring the bag to the Forestbriar Inn. Get paid. Handsomely.

      Alistair had not questioned the instructions when they had been given to him. He was a mercenary, plain and simple. He was good at what he did, and what he did involved doing some of the vilest things anyone in the forest could ask of him. But dealing with this giant was almost too much to bear. He could not wait to be done with this job.

      Ogg belched and farted at the same time, and Alistair was nearly knocked over from the smell.

      “Ogg not feel good. Ogg need to push.”

      Alistair grimaced. Surely he could have found someone for whom the difference between strength to wit was not this great. Surely.

      “Very well Ogg, very well.”

      Alistair leaned against a nearby tree, watching as Ogg set down the bag and rumbled his enormous self deeper into the forest. He tried to whistle, hoping to cover up the soon-to-be awful sounds of a gargantuan relieving himself, but strangely, no sound came from his lips. Strange. He was usually a fine whistler.

      Alistair focused his attention on the bag. It was more of a tarp, really, an unruly thing bundled together and tied at the top. It had not stopped moving since he and Ogg picked it up from the muses. It was a gentle movement though, a sort of swaying. Hypnotic, really. Alistair wondered what was in—

      No. He stopped himself mid-thought. Wondering led to curiosity, and curiosity led to bad things. He was not paid to wonder what – or who – was inside the bag, only to get it from point A to point B. Nothing more. That was why he was the best at what he did.

      Ogg returned and picked up the bag. Such quandaries probably never entered Ogg’s feeble mind, Alistair thought.

      “Ogg pushed good,” he said.

      “Glad to hear, Ogg,” Alistair said, trying to stop thinking about what could be in the bag, moving and swaying as it did. Trying to stop, and failing.

      6

      Horace Heckle spun the lock with his gnarled fingers, taking his time to make sure he got it right, while everyone in the room silently urged him to move faster.

      He finally reached the third number, and, again moving far too slowly for anyone else’s taste, pulled the lever that opened the safe.

      “Well get on with it then,” Elder Rogers said, as nervous laughter escaped the lips of a few council members.

      Horace retrieved the contents of the safe, turned around and shuffled back to the rest of the group. He remained standing.

      “What I am about to share with you is something only Ethel and I know about. She brought it to my attention thirteen years ago, and we have kept it a secret since. We had hoped we would never need to explain it to anyone.”

      Ethel squeezed Kristoffer’s hand.

      “First, Kristoffer, I am sorry I allowed that display earlier.