The Old Man's Hands

Hi there!

So instead of doing a video today, for various reasons that include feeling under the weather and an absence of motivation, I wrote another short story. It is meant to be folklore/parable in the style of the Grimm Brothers, that can stand alone and also works as a mythology tie-in to my novel.

It gets quite dark, purposefully though so I don't suppose I'll apologize for that, but a fair warning is always good! Happy Halloween?

Anyway, it might be subject to some edits - as I can never quite lay my work to rest - but here it is in its early glory! I hope you all enjoy!

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The Old Man's Hands

by Chantille Millena

Long ago, in the depth of the woods lived an Old Man in an old oak cabin. Strong in his youth until the tides of time wore his hands brittle and veiled his eyes. And so he sat by the fire, warm and unafraid, for Death's sweet kiss to wither him away from this world.

So it would happen that one night, a storm arrived. Vicious and vile, it blew wildly against the trees, scattering wet leaves and shattering feeble branches; rain fell in floods that drowned light and life; and a darkness brewed.

Amongst the shadows there was a lone Fox, helplessly lost in the storm, who came across The Old Man's cabin, seeking shelter.

He rapped on the great oak door. "O good sir, please could I share in your warmth but for one night? The storm is fierce and I am so hungry," he begged The Old Man.

"You are safe and welcome here, friend," replied The Old Man, ushering the shivering creature inside. "Stay as long as you like and eat what you please to stay your hunger."

"Thank you, sir," said The Fox. "How can I repay this kindness?"

The Old Man smiled, returning to his place by the fire, "I am old and was ready to embrace my end until you came upon my cabin. Perhaps it was fated. Your company is all the payment I seek, but once the storm has cleared you could fetch me some berries and feed me, for I no longer can feed myself. In exchange, I could feed a hunger for you that no food can satisfy."

Curious, The Fox asked, "What hunger would that be?"

"Knowledge, friend," The Old Man said. "I can teach you to read."

"Read?" The Fox laughed, "And what would a fox need with reading?"

"Do not limit your life to what's just in front of your nose, friend. There are worlds far beyond your sight. In the morning, fetch me some berries and you will see." And The Old Man fell into a deep sleep.

In the morning he woke to mounds of the ripest berries, berries of all kinds. The Old Man was pleased. And so he taught The Fox to read. Letters one day, words the next, parables after, and soon, he read thousands of complex books.

When he had mastered reading, The Old Man asked him for a fish and in exchange he would teach him to write.

In the morning he woke to handfuls of fresh water fish, fish of all kinds. The Old Man was pleased. And so he taught The Fox to write. Letters one day, words the next, poetry after, and soon, he penned thousands of his own extravagant tales.

When he had mastered writing, The Old Man asked for a stolen rabbit from a trap and taught him numbers; stolen fruit from wanderers and taught him about the stars; stolen bread from a bakery and he taught him to question.

The deal -- stealing and teaching -- transpired for months. The Fox fed The Old Man, and The Old Man fed The Fox.

The Fox felt something spur inside of him -- an importance, a superiority -- like a fire, ever growing as it fed, mad and dangerous and hungry.

He found a place amongst the humans he stole from, no longer able to looks his brother foxes in the eyes -- the simple creatures' eyes that were so empty and blind while his were full and bright. And even then he felt above the humans, a Teacher among students, a King among peasants, a God among his creations.

But it was never enough, The Fox wanted more.

The Old Man explained that there was a line to be crossed between his Head and his Heart and that in this pursuit he can choose only one.

"The choice is simple," exclaimed The Fox. "The Heart weighs me down, while The Head carries me ever onwards. I shall never want to stop the chase."

"And so the choice is made. I will fashion you an ornate box to hold your Heart and teach you all I know, but you must do something for me first." The Old Man sat up, "You must feed me."

"I have been feeding you," The Fox said.

The Old Man shook his head, "I need to be fed to be strong. There is a hunger in me that food cannot satisfy. You live amongst a pious people who are wanton for sin, with souls that will burn and burn black. You must feed me these souls."

The Fox hesitated. "Souls?" he asked.

"It is the only way I can be strong and the only way you can be too," The Old Man replied.

And in a single blink of an eye, The Fox agreed. The Old Man told The Fox that he wanted as many souls as his own stomach can carry; to burn them black, to consume them, and to carry them back to his cabin. There he will eat and there they will begin.

The pangs of The Fox's own hunger rang louder than the cries of his conscience, so he sneaked into the town and did as The Old Man asked. House by house, family by family, he removed the townsfolk's souls, burning them as black as the night in their own fireplaces, and then swallowed them one by one until his belly was full and nearly bursting.

He entered the cabin, proud and keen, a blaze in the pit of his stomach keeping the souls and his hunger warm. The Fox did not see The Old Man at first, not until he was caught, snatched up by his tail and pinned to the oak wood kitchen table.

The Old Man's eyes were aflame, in a manner that had matched The Fox's own -- mad and dangerous and hungry. The Old Man sliced open the poor creature's belly and devoured the souls straight from the bowl of his stomach.

The Fox heard them, heard the souls screaming in agony, heard himself screaming in agony. He was horrified, his Heart overcome with remorse, and yet he wanted his reward, his Head overcome with desire. But the souls would not stop screaming as The Old Man ate and ate and ate, his hunger never ceasing.

The Fox's Heart and Head tore in two different directions among the chaos and the torture, until The Fox himself split in two. Two Foxes -- two halves had become two wholes, but neither more whole than before. The Head and The Heart, broken and bruised with blackened souls still leaking from the tears in their bellies

The Old Man, salivated and lunged at The Foxes with such a heated fervor it frightened them. Together they grabbed an axe off the woodpile next to the fireplace and hacked off The Old Man's hands.

He bled, as black as the souls he consumed, but he did not weaken.

"Fools," he cackled. "Fated, indeed. There is new payment I seek."

Screaming smoke as black as night flooded from The Old Man's mouth and trapped The Foxes in the cabin. It ripped The Foxes' own souls from their bodies, already tainted black by sin, and put them inside an ornate box before The Old Man consumed it.

The black smoke retreated but The Foxes found that they could not flee.

The Old Man laughed, full and loud tremors that shook the old oak cabin, "Until the day your God is good and cuts your strings, you are this Old Puppeteer's finest toys -- The Devil's Hands."

To this day, The Old Man still sits by the fire, warm and unafraid, for his hungry Hands to feed him, to ward away Death's sweet kiss, until he is strong once again.

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THE END! Hope you enjoyed it, again I might make some edits someday but for now, it is what it is and I quite like what it is.

Have a lovely day and you will see my face in a video tomorrow!

SEE YA!

~ Chantille ~