The dark rider bore down on me, swiftly closing the gap between us, his jagged saw held ready to rip my flesh and bones away in a crimson gust. In moments it would be over, the splinters of my body left lying to feed the worms. But the bitterness of that image could never compare to the bitterness of not knowing why.

I stumbled over a root but didn’t go down. The barren trees rattled like bones around me, rain dripping from their branches. The scent of wet fall earth filled my nostrils, invoking memories of wood-smoke, greasy traps hanging by furs, and my fiddle crying softly by firelight. I longed for my cabin, an island of sanity in a world stripped bare of common sense. That longing drove my feet to move faster, sore and weary though they were.

I’d only been running for a few moments, but a man doesn’t stay ahead of a horse for any length of time without a profound effort. My heart felt like it might rupture – but if it did, at least I’d cheat the demon of his murderous goal in some small fashion. I looked around for a place to hide, but no sign of civilization existed out here.

In my attempt to escape the demon, I’d finally gotten myself snared. But I’d wanted freedom, and I’d been willing to risk everything to find some region of the world where the rider wouldn’t follow. Now that my decision to keep traveling had backfired, I cursed myself for not having hid out in a town or city somewhere. But at the same time, I realized it was pointless to chastise myself, as I never would have settled for cowering in a town. That’s not the type of man I was, and my stubbornness had at last brought me to ruin.

Unable to keep running, and losing ground regardless, I slowed down and prepared for a fight to the death. Even in these final seconds my heart still smoldered with rage. The demon’s image gnawed at my mind – his billowing black cloak crawling with maggots; his unbending will over the years as he chased me through marsh, forest, and city; the way he fueled the flames of revulsion and hatred in me.

But then a new doorway opened before me – a path into madness – in the form of a moonlit dome, pale and barren like the hearts of those who withered away inside it. It was like a cancerous tumor rising from the forest floor, a lump of stone blocks shaped like a skull but lacking eyes, nose, or mouth, starkly out of place beneath the trees, as if the wilderness had rejected it. It was a Glothtrop Temple, built in honor of the Faceless One – or the twisted god who had, according to legend, cut off and devoured his own face.

But with the pounding horse hoofs bearing down on me, I threw myself to the cold stone, shoving against a cracked and pitted door with the last of my strength. The grating of gears filled my head – a screech of desperation as I forced myself inside.

I fell against a wall, as the door lurched shut behind me somehow. I was a hard man and I didn’t weep. My soul was as battered as my weathered face. A hunter and trapper like me knew all about life and death. I felt the way thousands of animals had felt when I’d stalked them, shot arrows into their quivering flesh, and slashed out their throats with my knife.

I fought to catch my breath, wondering if I’d pushed my body too far – knowing I could run no more if that stone door burst open. But past experience told me Maggot Face – as I’d nicknamed him – would try to wait me out rather than come inside. He’d sit stoically on his horse, untroubled by cold, hunger, or impatience.

When at last I could breathe, I took to exploring. Torchlight flickered on flower runes around me – wall engravings of petals falling from orchids to become human fingers, eyes, noses, tongues, and lips as they settled into piles.

“Sick bastards,” I muttered. “But better company than Maggot Face.” I forged ahead, the chill in my blood mingled with a sour taste on my tongue like old dust. I was confident the Glothtrop monks would not harm me – for they preferred to harm themselves.

I stepped into a beautiful hell – a chamber filled with fragrant flowers floating on pools of water and lit by sensual blue torches. The chamber reeked of intimacy and death, stained into the cracked walls and worn floor. On a grass mat knelt a monk, calm in his perverseness, giving a face to the insanity. He wore only a leather loincloth, and his scrawny body was covered in scars. He was missing part of his scalp, and had no lips – just stretched skin that formed the outline of a mouth. Tears dripped from his cheeks.

He wiped his eyes. “Welcome, brother. Why have you come?”

I hesitated, then shrugged. “A demon is hunting me. He wants to saw me up like firewood, I guess. I don’t know why, so don’t bother asking.”

A pale tongue poked out of the monk’s mouth, giving a few quick flicks. “Yes, a demon is a terrible curse, my brother. He seeks to sever you, so you cannot sever yourself. Do you understand?”

I shook my head. Ranting idiot. Images of my home haunted my mind, of rugged men like me who talked straight to you – real, struggling men with fears and families. For an instant, the tears almost did spring forth.

The monk traced a bony finger around his mouth. “I cut them off with a razor and ate them. They tasted like pork fat.”

My stomach churned.

“Do you know why I cry?” he asked.

“Nope,” I said, my body tensing in anticipation of what he was about to reveal. I wanted to stick my grimy fingers in my ears.

“I cry because I’m a coward. I want... no, I need to pull out my eyes. It’s all I can think about.” He poked himself in the eye. “These useless orbs need to come out, so I can truly see. Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be able to see?”

I sighed. Perhaps, when darkness descended, I could slip off into the forest and escape the demon one more time. But I needed to find another exit.

“I cry all day,” the monk went on, “begging Glothtrop to grant me the courage to tear out my eyes.” He help up brass pliers. “But still I cannot bring myself to do it. Maybe your presence here is a good omen – a sign that things will change.”

I wanted to scream insults at him, to make him understand how foolish he was. But that would only have turned him against me. “I thank you for giving me sanctuary here, but why in the seven hells would you want to rip out your own eyeballs? And furthermore, I’m exhausted and hungry. Is there somewhere in here where I can eat and rest?”

“Yes,” he said, “but it’s not yet time. Only an honest man can rest here and then leave this temple through a secret exit. Are you an honest man? If so, reveal some truths. Tell me how you really feel.”

I fidgeted restlessly. "As I said, there's demon lurking out there who wants to kill me, and I'm in no mood for conversation. My belly hurts from lack of food, and I'm so tired I feel like I'm going to fall apart."

The monk grinned. "To fall apart – how wonderful that would be! As for the demon, don’t worry about it. No demon would dare enter this sacred temple. Now, my patience is wearing away. Tell me what's on your mind. You don’t like me or my kind, but I don’t like those who hide the truth. Prove to me you’re honest – or leave here into the arms of death."

At the end of my mental rope, I threw up my hands in disgust. "If you leave me no choice. I think you Glothtrop monks are sick and strange. I've heard tales of how you mutilate yourselves in order to get promoted within your cult.”

The monk nodded. "I sense truth in your words. Yes, we sever our own flesh and eat it in honor of Glothtrop." He held up his left hand, which was missing two fingers. "This is a sign of strength and courage." Then he poked himself in the eye again. "And this is a sign of terrible weakness. Until my eyes come out, I am nothing. Can’t you understand?"

“No, I can’t.”

The monk sneered. "Then understand this! We won't be leaving this room until my eyes come out. I can’t lead you along the path to confront your demon if I can't see where I'm going. If need be, we shall remain here until we starve to death."

I looked around, but could see no other door. "I'll leave at nightfall.”

"And you’ll find death. The demon will claim you."

I sat down on the floor and put my head in my hands, my own tears at last gushing free. So much for being a hard man. It must have been a damn ugly sight – a rugged, beaded old trapper weeping like a little girl. But I couldn't take it anymore. For two years now – ever since the dark rider had appeared – my life had been a study in madness and misery. And now this crazy monk was tearing away the last of my defenses.

Suddenly, two scrawny arms wrapped around me. The monk was trying to hug me. I shoved him back. "Get the hell away from me," I snarled, shuddering.

The monk began to sing a song about sleeping, as he danced around, still clutching his brass pliers. Something in his voice made me drowsy.

I didn't object to the singing. A song about sleep was at least something I could understand. I stretched out on the stone floor, wondering if old Maggot Face would ride in and put me out of my misery. I might have welcomed it. I quickly fell asleep.

* * * * *