First part here.
His brain didn’t work the way it should. It was… Diffuse. Strange. Like if there was some kind of fog, some kind of… death. He felt nothing. He wasn’t sure if he was even alive.
He saw the village further down. Remembering something. Some… person. Eyes. A touch. Soon it was gone.
He arrived between the houses. People were walking by, some saluted. Others ignored him. He didn’t understand. He didn’t care. They were things, moving, walking.
Martin saw a strange man walking down the street. He jumped aside, as the other almost bumped into him. Hey, Jones! I didn’t recognise you. Jones the gravedigger just passed by, like he didn’t even see him. He walked strangely. He must be drunk, said Martin when he was a bit down the road. So unlike him.
He came to a house. It looked familiar, somehow. What was that, deep inside him? Feelings? Memories? He needed to feel something. He needed to remember. Something to show him he existed, that he was alive. Something real.
He entered. His shady eyesight made it hard to see. Some sound from within the house, from the next room. It was hard to tell what it was, his ears were full of noise, a background noise without meaning. Or was it his brain? He tried to think about it, but his thoughts were slow, too slow. They didn’t make sense.
Darcy came walking into the hallway. He was standing there, looking at her. She used to be his wife, but he could not really remember. She looked at him.
What’s wrong, darling…? She said. He said nothing. The expression on his face was…. Strange. Dead, somehow. Empty. Scary. What’s that you have on your head? There were cables and metal tubes sticking out on one side.
No answer. He just stood there. Something was wrong. She took a step back. He followed her. She started running.
He caught her. Held her down. She tried to fight him, but he was too strong. He needed to feel something. Anything. He bit her. Bit her in the face. She screamed even harder. Started hitting him. He could feel the punches. A little bit. Not pain. Not even molest. Just the recognition of something hitting his skin. It felt good. Alive. Real. He started hitting her back. In the face. Again and again. He felt something. A strange pleasure of violence. Some of the life he vaguely remembered was still in him. She didn’t move any more. He punched her face a while longer. It wasn’t the same when she didn’t move. He started biting her head.
Martin came running in the open door. He’d heard the noise, and came to see what was happening. Darcy! Is everything… He stopped. Her husband was lying over her. Chewing on her. He backed out.
Help! Help, someone!
The creature got up on his feet. Walked towards the noise. Out the door. Martin ran away, screaming. The other villagers came out of their houses.
He’s killed Mrs Jones! He’s killed her!
But it’s Mr Jones? How could you? One of the villagers exclaimed in disbelief.
That’s not Mr Jones… Said another. It’s a monster! Kill it!
The villagers picked up weapons. Axes, spades, whatever they had at hand. They were many now.
He looked at them. Their weapons. They were after him. They wanted to hurt him. Fear? Maybe. Something strange deep underneath the clouds in his mind. Fear. Danger. He turned, ran. Down the slope, over the fields, into the forest.
The farmers came running after him. Shouting. Dogs barking. A dog reached, him, barking around his legs. A small one. He tried to kick it, but it was difficult when he was running. Another dog, a big one, came. Bit his leg. He fell. Two others started biting his arms. Fear. Definitely fear. A farmer arrived, stabbed him with a trident. Another hit his head with a big pickaxe. Pain. He was alive. He was beyond doubt alive.
Now he was dying again.