“Goddammit,” Technician Fourth Class Dave Jackson snorted under his breath as his foot found another lump telling him there was a corpse under foot. He raised his hand over his head and yelled behind him, “we got another one over here!”
“Finding them in the surprising places is the worst, isn’t it?”
“Shut up, Ryan,” Jackson shot back with all seriousness. “This used to be someone.”
Private Nick Ryan shrugged, “It’s the truth ain’t it?”
“I am going to sock you in the teeth, Ryan.”
“Then your hand would have to go on leave and wouldn’t your dick be disappointed?” Ryan retorted with a flash of his wide perfect smile.
“Shut up, both of you,” Technical Sergeant Aaron Riley snapped at the two. “The villagers swore this was the place. Keep looking.”
“Riles, sir, look at this one,” Jackson pointed at his find. “Look at his face.”
“If you show me another corpse with it’s face blown off, I am going to lose my shit, Jackson,” Riley grumbled.
Jackson leaned down and flipped the German soldier with both hands. The German must have been dead for only a few days, both of this hands clenched together as if he had been praying. The dead man’s face was locked in a shocked expression, the eyes still wide open, although milked over completely from the damp.
“You reckon he was praying?” Ryan wondered.
“Notice that he doesn’t have his gun? And he didn’t bleed out, his uniform is remarkably clean, except for his knees,” Jackson pointed out. “It’s like the others.”
“Of course, only our medic would notice the lack of wounds. Perhaps he didn’t have a chance to bleed out…” Riley looked closer at the rank on the soldier. “And this was an officer, not a high one, but explains why he looks so… clean.”
“Fucking Krauts,” Ryan sighed.
“Ryan, pull that one over to the others. We will tag the group for the German POWs, let ’em bury their own. And, if I have to remind you, we aren’t here for the dead Germans, Ryan,” Riley ordered.
“Double fucking Krauts,” Ryan groused. He grabbed the soldier by his boots and dragged him towards the empty ox cart where at least three other bodies where laying.
As soon as Ryan was out of earshot, Riley nudged his medic. “Why do you really think it was weird?”
“All of them died without any gunshot wounds, Riles, and I would swear that one died on his knees, praying. Praying to something right in front of him, I would bet,” Jackson said quietly.
“Weird,” Riley agreed, his voice wandering off as if remembering something else.
“This whole mission is weird. Why assign a squad to clear out a remote farmstead? I mean, Captain Holt didn’t even explain to us why we were here. ‘Look for anything out of the ordinary?’ Those aren’t orders, it’s a fucking suggestion,” Jackson said.
Riley shrugged, unholstering his 1911 sidearm. “Well, let’s continue shall we? The barn?”
“You know how to show me a good time, Riles,” Jackson grinned, swinging his M1 Carbine from his shoulder. “Remind me to buy you a drink someday.”
“Jackson, you are at least a hundred drinks already,” Riley shook his head.
“Then I guess we will have a really good time doing it.”
They both walked across the field towards the barn standing alone, the house it belonged to had long burned down, only the blackened first floor remained as a monument to a world war that had marched through this valley without regard for who lived here.
Jackson unlocked the breach and checked his rounds out of habit. The only reason he owed Riley so many damn drinks was being cautious and not letting an enemy get a jump on him. That had meant more than a handful of Germans and Italians had unfortunately met their end on the other side of his firearm. He had prayed for every one, too.
“Jackson,” Riley stopped midstride. He pointed with his gun at the second level of the barn. “What is in the window?”
“Well if it was a sniper, I think one of us would already be dead,” Riley shouldered his carbine and down the sight. “It looks like a bucket? And a broom?”
“What are you guys looking at,” Ryan yelled from behind as he ran up.
“Fuck, Ryan, could you be any louder?” Jackson commented.
“Sorry. What you guys looking at?” Ryan tried again.
“We could have other Germans in this area. The war might be over for us, but for anyone that is in hiding, it could be a different story, Ryan.” Riley said.
“So, you find one?”
“Shoulder your rifle, Ryan. You take point.” Riley ordered.
“Aww man, seriously?”
Jackson shook his head. “Jesus, Ryan. How did you even survive this war? Your parents have any kids that lived?”
“And keep your damn pearly whites locked together until I tell you otherwise.” Riley added.
“Yes sir.” Ryan started walking slowly towards the barn, and Jackson and Riley followed carefully behind.
“This barn looks strange, Riles. Does it look like any barn you have ever seen?”
“You mean the second floor?”
“Hay storage is usually up top, the windows help keep it dry. It’s the shape. That barn is not symmetrical,” Jackson said. “The front doesn’t line up with back. Look at that far corner, there is an extra wall over there. I bet on it.”
Riley squinted, trying to see the irregularities, but he couldn’t make it out. “Don’t bet, Jackson. You owe too much already.”
Jackson huffed. “Sure, sure.”
Ryan put the end of his Springfield rifle between the edges of the large door and pushed the crack wider.
“HOLY SHIT!” He screamed and backpedaled, squeezing a single shot off in a panic. He fell heavily to the ground, and fired another shot wide.
“I hope to god you killed whoever was behind that door with the first shot,” Riley said.
“I saw a fucking g-g-ghost, sir.” Ryan stammered.
Jackson snickered with a wide smile.
“And do you think shooting it was going to do anything? Get up, Ryan.” Riley shook his head. “Jackson, if you will?”
“Gladly.” Jackson shouldered his carbine and pulled the door back with both hands as Riley kept his sidearm trained on whatever was behind the widening door.
“It’s a ghost alright. The Halloween kind, though. A sheet hanging over something,” Riley commented dryly.
“I swear to god, it was moving. And not a goddamn sheet,” Ryan said.
Jackson stepped around the edge of the door and looked over the wide open space inside the barn. “Riles, there could be a hundred places to hide in there. Think we should grab some of the others?”
“We should just burn it down and be done,” Ryan grumbled.
“Stick together, go slow, and watch our corners. If someone wanted to kill us, I think it would have happened already. It’s probably a runner.”
“Wouldn’t have Captain Holt told us we were looking for deserters?” Ryan pointed out.
“I don’t know,” Riley sighed. “Just keep your head on a swivel, Ryan. And try not to shoot all the scary things in the scary barn. Including the two of us.”
Ryan’s face twisted when he realized he was being made fun of. “Yes sir.”
“Now, seriously, take point, go slow. Keep your wits about you.” Riley added.
They slowly stepped into the gloom of the old barn, and the smell was what one would expect in such a place. The smell of time, of old work, and summers come and gone, leaving only the musty shadows of their passing. Light filtered in from above, creating thin shafts of dancing motes slowly shifting on currents only the dust would notice. There was old farm equipment strewn haphazardly along the inside walls, old ox plows and threshers, combing and pulling trellises were stacked against a winnowing machine in another corner, as if forming a shrine to an ancient god of harvest. Among it all was a heavy layer of old hay, with gray wood or black hard pack peeking through the patchwork quilt of matted grass.
The sheet that had put Ryan’s dick in the dirt indeed a fresh bullet hole through the center. Riley pulled it down, and underneath was a bundle of tall sticks tied together into an approximation of human being.
“It’s a scarecrow,” Riley said.
“It did it’s job,” Jackson added.
“Thanks, Jackson,” Riley said sarcastically. “I hit it.”
“Well at least your aim has improved enough for the end of the war to come,” Jackson teased.
Riley shushed them both and pointed up the side stairs, where a shadow was standing still, seemingly looking down at them.
“Another scarecrow?” Jackson asked.
Riley shrugged and moved up the stairs slowly, holding his 1911 at shoulder height. He nudged his gun against the sheet, and grabbed the edge, pulling towards him slowly. It shifted and fell, but unlike the one guarding the barn door, nothing had been holding it up.
“Was it on a wire, Riles?” Jackson said from behind.
“I don’t see one,” Riley swallowed heavily. He backed down the stairs as a sense of dread creeped up his arms to tingle the back of his neck.
“This place doesn’t feel right,” Ryan sniffed.
“Yeah, no shit.” Jackson agreed.
“Jackson, you and I clear this floor first, then we all move up. Ryan, stay right there and keep your rifle trained at the top. Anything that doesn’t come down those stairs with its hands in the air, you put a round in. Got it?”
“Yes sir.”
“You know for a bright sunny day, you would think there would be more light in here,” Jackson commented.
“Yeah. Clear the corners first. You take that side, I take this one,” Riley replied.
Jackson nodded, moving around the broken down hay bales and the first thresher on his side, poking into the darker places with the end of his rifle, his bayonet now attached.
Riley grabbed one of the broken shovel handles near the door, and used it the same way, keeping his 1911 pointed down the length of it. He pushed the sharper end of the broken handle into the darker places between the equipment and the occasional slats of wood that reinforced the animal stalls that ran along the wall. Every stall door was open, with most missing, and not a single animal or even the smell of one lingered. The livestock were probably the first thing to go when the Germans came. It had been years since any animal larger than a field mouse had been in these stalls. His eyes fully adjusted, and he was able to finally get a sense of the space. The barn was old, with generations of changes and adaptations made to fit as they were needed. This had probably started out as a grain barn, but over the years adapted to accommodate all the needs of the farm.
There was a small scream from Jackson’s side, and Riley ran over, his broken shovel still in hand.
“It’s a kid!” Jackson called out. “Hey, kid, its ok. It’s ok, little man, I won’t hurt you.”
Jackson dropped his gun and pulled the kid out towards the center of the open space of the barn floor. The boy was nearly emaciated, his skin tight around his face, his blond hair a memory that floated in a nimbus around his head. Riley noted he couldn’t be older than six or seven years old.
“Do you speak English? Francais? Deutsch?” Riley asked the kid.
“All of them,” the little boy replied. “Are you going to kill me?”
“Of course not, kid,” Jackson replied calmly. “We are the good guys. Americans. The war is over.”
“It’s over?” The kid replied, wide eyed. “Edwin didn’t tell me.”
“Who’s Edwin? Is he here?” Riley asked.
The small boy shook his head lightly, as if the movement pained him. Riley realized he was crying with no tears to shed.
“Edwin comes out at night,” the boy said slowly. “He only plays once the moon is out.”
“Is anyone else in the barn?” Riley tried again.
“It is only me.”
Riley waved at Ryan to lower his rifle, and he holstered his own as he took a knee to look the boy over. “Do you want some water? Chocolate?”
The boy nodded furtively. Riley unhooked his canteen, undoing the clasp and handing it over. “Take a drink. We have chocolate in our truck, if you can come outside.”
The boy took a heavy swallow from the canteen, but shook his head without saying a word.
“Come on,” Riley urged. “You’re safe now. You can come out into the warm sun, have some food with us, then we can take you to the village for a bat and a warm bed.”
“Edwin won’t like that,” the boy whispered. “He protects me since I promised to play.”
“What’s your name?” Jackson asked, looking the boy over for any injuries.
“August.”
“Nice to meet you Augie. May I call you Augie?” Jackson asked calmly, making sure that he didn’t accidentally stab the boy with his bayonet. “My name is Mr. Jackson. This is Mr. Riley, and that gentleman over there by the door is Mr. Ryan.”
“Augie? Who is Edwin?” Riley asked.
“He made my friends. They protect me when he sleeps.”
“You mean the scarecrows? With the sheets?” Riley said.
The boy nodded slowly, then took another drink from the canteen.
“Where is Edwin now? Does he need help?”
“No. No one can help Edwin. He has lived here longer than my family. My grandfather said he watches over the fields for us when we are sleeping. We always left bread and milk out for him.”
“Come on, son. We should get you somewhere safe. There may still be Germans around here,” Jackson said.
“You mean the Germans outside?”
“Not those Germans,” Riley said reassuringly. “But there might be others.”
“No, those were all the Germans. Edwin took care of them.”
“Edwin did that?” Riley said.
August nodded again. “He protects me.”
Jackson looked up at Riley and shrugged.
The boy continued, “Those men showed up, and stayed in my house. I hid in my spots here, and they never found me. They tried to come into the barn that night but Edwin kept them out. He scared them. They all screamed for a while, but Edwin made them stop.”
“Jesus,” Jackson whispered.
“Come on, Augie, lets go get some chocolate,” Riley said.
“Edwin…” the boy started.
“I know, I know. Edwin won’t like it. I will talk nicely to Edwin,” Riley replied calmly. “Ryan, take Augie here to the truck, give him some chocolate please. Maybe some crackers.”
Ryan nodded and took the boy’s hand, leading him calmly into the sun. Jackson picked up his carbine from the hay, and shook his head.
“I wonder how long he has been by himself out here,” Jackson said.
“By the sound of it, never,” Riley replied.
“Who do you think this Edwin character is? Strange name for French-speaking country folk. Edwin is an English name, right? Think it is a deserter from the Allies?”
Riley shook his head. “I have no idea. Not my job either. We are only after Germans, Jackson, and looks like Edwin took care of it.”
“What was the mission from the Captain, Riles? Like the actual mission?”
Riley sighed lightly. “We need to leave bread and condensed milk inside the door, on a barrel, under a napkin.”
“What?”
“It’s the orders. We don’t want what lives in this valley to follow us.”
Jackson looked incredulous. “Riles? Seriously.”
“Keep this between us. Got it?”
Jackson’s eyes were wide. “Of course.”
“You have to promise me!”
“I swear, Riles. What is going on?”
“Holt pulled me aside, he had some suit from London with him. The suit told me that there was something very dangerous in this valley. Something old.”
“Bullshit.”
“Swear to God,” Riley said. “You know I am telling the truth, because I don’t swear on God lightly. We have to leave an offering. An ample one. I have an entire loaf of bread for it.”
“No shit? Like actual bread?” Jackson asked with wide eyes.
“Yeah, its in a lockbox under the front seat. I had to make absolutely sure we did not screw it up. We have to do this just right… or Edwin… will chase the boy.”
“What did the suit tell you?”
“I can’t believe I am saying this, but it is classified.”
“Oh come on. I told you I would keep my mouth shut,” Jackson pressed.
“It’s locally known as a Cauchemar.”
“I know a little French, Riles, and all that means is nightmare,” Jackson raised his eyebrow. “You telling me Edwin ACTUALLY is a ghost?”
“The way the suit explained it to me is that its a Lutin, and a very mean one. A keeper of the land for the people that have lived here for many generations. And he will follow those he considers blood if he is not placated,” Riley swallowed at the memory, as if he was only sharing half of it. “The suit’s name was Dr. Samson, some bigwig that works for parts of the government that no one knows about. And he assured me of what I would find, how I would find it, and that I needed to take his word as the truth. Holt was dead serious too. If I had heard what I heard in any other place at any other time, I would have laughed my ass off all the way to church.”
“What the hell is a Lutin?” Jackson’s eyes were wide. “Is that a werewolf or something?”
“Ah, no, its uh, like a… hobgoblin. They can be playful, like children, but they can be far worse if they mean to be. That Dr. Samson, he warned me. And sure enough, Jackson, those German corpses out there tell me all I need to know.”
“And what’s that?”
“I leave the bribes, under a napkin, and we get the hell out of here before nightfall. That is all I need to know. The doctor assured me that if anyone but us came up here, they would just disappear. He told me exactly what to do to make sure this just got swept under the rug. He said, ‘This is war, Mr. Riley, and do you think that it is only a thing that affects the human race? My job is to clean up the parts that can’t be handled with a shovel or an ordnance team.'”
“I kind of don’t want to believe you,” Jackson admitted.
“He, uh, showed me something else that made me believe him.”
“And what was that?”
“His own Lutin, and it was sitting on his goddamn shoulder,” Riley admitted finally.