For he had come to live outside of the town, in a place where few others came, in a small wooded area, where a stream ran through and creatures of the field frequently came for drink. He had just come upon the place one day, and he had set about gathering scraps of wood and such and had built a hovel for himself over beside the stream. And there were those from the neighbourhood who took notice of his activities, but there was no one who said he could not, or should not, erect his simple structure. So, he came to live in that place, and none knew how he lived or gained his sustenance, other than from his foraging the countryside for bottles and other redeemable scrap. It was true that he had a garden, but it was small and pitiful, and surely could not be counted on for much.
He kept almost exclusively to himself and no one knew him. But the rumours were about in the town that he must surely eat small children and despoil fair virgins as is the case with all hermits. The townspeople just knew the small, wee man was evil. They left him alone, but they suspected the worst, and they knew the worst would come.
And it came to pass that it was the spring of the year when Dan Thompson took Julie Sharpeson out onto the backroads for a walk through the carpet of wild flowers that came each year to this part of the country. Julie hadn't been keen on coming with Dan, not quite trusting his intentions because he was a couple of years older than she was, knowing that she was a much sought after prize among the adolescent boys at school. Still, Dan had taken her to the movies twice and been the perfect gentleman. She didn't know why she felt uneasy about going out with him -- everything would be fine.
And it wasn't long before they had reached a spot deep in the woods, a beautiful, lush place that smelled luxurious and fine. Dan suggested they sit down and rest. They sat and all was well.
"It sure is beautiful out here," Julie said. "You were right when you said it
was a perfect day for a walk."
"I knew you'd really like it out here," Dan answered. "My Dad used to bring
me out here rabbit hunting."
"You're a hunter?" she asked.
"Not so much anymore," he answered. "My Dad really likes to hunt, so I
still go out with him sometimes."
The boy moved closer to the girl. She noticed and seemed to allow it.
"I can't imagine killing anything," Julie said, also seeming to allow it when
Dan placed his arm over her shoulder.
"Oh, it's not so bad," Dan answered. "It's usually quick and the animal
doesn't feel a thing."
"Don't you think it has feelings?" the girl asked.
"No," the boy answered. "That would be like thinking that cows or chickens
had feelings. That's stupid."
The boy's hand had inched its way down over her shoulder and had reached her breast. He touched it, and was not rebuffed. He felt confident of success.
The girl was filled with uncertain anticipation. She knew she should tell him to stop, but feelings were overwhelming her. Her heart pounded and she wanted him to touch her.
So that when his hand moved inside her blouse, she made no effort to stop him, but seemed to press closer to him, and he became all the more aggressive and felt desparately for her under her clothes. He also took her hand and placed it between his own legs where his young manhood reached out toward her. Again, she complied, more excited to feel the hardness of him, never having been so close to such a thing, some part of her wanting to know it better.
They laid back into the bed of sweet, spring grass and kissed. And they continued to kiss and feel each other, becoming all the more excited with each passing moment, the boy now completely confident that she would be his -- that she would become yet another sordid tale for the locker room.
He began to pull at her clothes and soon her top had come away and he eagerly fondled her nude, young breasts, wanting more and more of her. A fever was rising in him that he could not seem to control, so that he had hardly stripped her halfway and he was intent on having what remained of her dignity. He grabbed at her slacks, attempting to undo them, to peel them from her and to have his way with her.
But it was at that moment that she seemed to awaken and realize what it was she did. She pulled back from his groping hands.
"Stop, Dan," she said. "This isn't right."
"This is very right, Julie," the boy said back through teeth clenched tight by
passion and he continued to maul her, managing to pull her slacks away to her
knees.
She pulled away from him and tried to get to her feet, but stumbled when she became tangled in her partly removed pants. And he was on her, pulling her slacks the rest of the way off, as she tried in vain to push him away.
"Dan, stop," the girl said. "You're frightening me."
"You can't just string me along like that," the boy answered, some anger in
his voice. "Come on, let's have some fun." He advanced toward her as she lay
naked in the grass, trying to cover herself, fighting back tears.
"Dan, please," she pleaded. "Don't."
But he had unbuckled his belt and was standing menacingly over her, not looking much like an "A" student at the moment. He pulled down his pants, revealing himself to her, causing her to recoil where she lay.
But Dan wasn't going to pass up this opportunity. This would be one to tell his friends about. So, he started in on her. And by the time he'd finished, she was laying, prone in the grass, weeping, while he stood above her, getting dressed and feeling smug.
"There, that wasn't so bad, eh?" he asked with a patronizing tone. "Now,
you're ready for the next guy who comes along."
"You're a bastard," she spewed at him between tears.
"Get your clothes on," he said. "Don't pretend you're such a good girl. You
enjoyed it."
And with that, she suddenly came at him with the fury of a wildcat, grabbing a rock that had been beside her as she came, she savagely smote him on the back of the head while he searched for his socks.
"You bastard!" she cried, as he fell slightly forward and she hit him several
more times, until he finally collapsed onto his knees, and she hit him once
more, holding the rock firmly in both hands, so he went down like a sack of
dying cats sinking to the bottom of a lake.
"You bastard," she repeated for the third time as she stood over his now
unmoving body.
Then, she looked down to see the rock between her hands. It was covered in blood. She recoiled in disgust and threw the weapon aside. She regarded her victim, and, suddenly, she was afraid. Perhaps she'd killed him.
The thought caused her to panic and she wanted only to leave this tragic place. She struggled to dress herself, but was mainly unsuccessful, so that she ran off through the woods half naked, and with blood spattered over much of her body, leaving the remains of Dan Thompson to fend for themselves.
The strange, wee man was out tending his garden on this fine, sunny afternoon, not suspecting that anything was amiss in his world. It was then that Julie Sharpeson arrived in his life.
The girl came crashing out of the woods and fell into his arms totally
hysterical. "I've killed him!" she cried. "I've killed him."
"Hold on there, miss," said the strange, wee man, who was more than a
little surprised at what had come into his garden on such a fine day. "Try to get
a grip on yourself."
The girl was trembling all over and had added her own blood to that of her victim, her cuts and bruises caused by running headlong through the bush, and she looked a truly awful sight, but, gradually, as the strange, wee man held her to his breast, she became more calm. He removed his jacket and placed it over her shoulders in an attempt to cover her. He brushed her hair back out of her eyes.
"There, there, my precious," said the strange, wee man, who was perhaps
not so strange after all, she thought, that he could feel concern for a young girl
who had seemingly come upon some grave misfortune. "Now, who is it that you
think you've killed?" he asked.
"Dan Thompson," she answered matter-of-factly, looking up at him with a
tear-stained face. "He raped me and I've killed him," she said, and the tears
returned.
"Oh, I'm sure there must be some mistake," the wee man said. "You
couldn't have killed him."
"Then, what does this look like?" the girl said, thrusting forth her bloody
hands so he could see them more plainly.
"You've certainly come to some harm," he admitted, "and we'll have to find
out more. First, though, you must come inside and get cleaned up. I've got some
clean clothes."
"We've got to call the police," the girl said quietly.
"There's no phone here," the wee man answered.
"I've got to call the police," she said.
"All in good time," answered the wee man. "First, let's see if we can get you cleaned up."
And so the girl went inside his ramshackle cabin with him and was soon sipping tea, after having washed and dressed herself in some clothes the wee man had about the place.
"There, there, doesn't that feel better?" the wee man asked.
"Yes, it does," she answered. "But I think we should be doing something.
Dan's dead out there. Don't you understand?"
"Yes, and we'll go and see to your young friend shortly," he answered. "We
had to see to you first."
"You're a very kind man," she said.
They sat and drank their tea mostly in silence. The girl was surprised at the neatness and cleanliness of the cabin, knowing that she had come upon the hermit who lived on the edge of town, and who was deemed as unsavoury by the townsfolk. When she had first come upon the place, so distraught had she been, that she had not realized where she was. Then, she had been somewhat afraid to know her location. But, now, as she sipped the tea and sat snuggled in the quilt from the wee man's bed, a feeling of weariness descended over her. It came upon her in waves and soon she had to struggle to keep her eyes open.
"I'm so tired," she said, looking dreamily over at the wee man.
"Then, sleep," she heard him say.
"What about Dan?" she tried to ask, but could not be sure whether the
words made their way out of her.
"I'll see to him," she thought she heard him say.
Then, she slept.
When she awoke, she thought she heard someone singing. The cabin was bathed in darkness. Night had fallen. She strained to adjust her eyes to the dimness of the place. And even as she looked across the tiny cottage, she thought she could see the wee man intent on some task, singing some slow dirge as he went about his work.
She tried to move, to get up from where she was laying, but found that she could not -- something was holding her.
"Hello? Sir?" she called out into the near darkness, but the gnomelike man went about his business, paying her no attention.
She struggled more with her bonds, but knew she could not break free, so lay still again. Gradually, her eyes started to adjust to the small amount of light in the room. And it was then, as the images in the room became clearer, that she realized that she and the wee man were not the only occupants of the cabin. Dan Thompson had joined them. Or rather, what was left of Dan Thompson had joined them.
The girl screamed long and hard when she realized what was becoming of Dan. But there was no one to hear, and the wee man just went about his grisly work and still paid her no mind.
Finally, she regained some semblance of control over herself. She buried her head in the wee man's quilt and sobbed quietly. She could hear the ripping and tearing of flesh and bone from across the room.
"Why?" she finally cried out toward the wee man.
The wee man turned toward her, holding a piece of hewn body in one hand,
a jagged, saw-toothed knife in the other. "He hurt you," he said. "I'm helping
you."
"My God, you're not helping me," the girl sobbed. "Please call the police.
Please stop."
"He shouldn't have hurt you," the wee man said.
"I killed him," she wept.
"No, you just hurt him," the wee man said. "I killed him."
"He was alive?" she asked, surprise in her voice.
"Yes," the wee man answered. "But not for long."
"Oh, God," she wept.
But the wee man turned back away from her and returned to his work. The girl passed out. She had no idea how long she lay unconscious, but, finally, she regained her reality and again opened her eyes. She was nude under the covers. She wondered. There was a smell of cooking in the place, and she looked over, again through the darkness and dimness in the shack, and saw the wee man busily feeding a fire, while a huge, black pot simmered above the cheery blaze. It was then that she imagined the contents of the huge, black pot and again cried out.
The wee man came over to her. "There, there, my precious," he said softly, reaching out and stroking her hair with one of his gnarled hands. "Everything is all right, now," he said, and again his voice was soft and mellow.
The girl sobbed, but the wee man's manner seemed to calm her. She lay still, terror in her mind, but outwardly more serene, except for the tears she could not get to stop.
"Yes, I've had my way with that silly, young boy," said the wee man. "He
had his way with you, and I've had my way with him." And he cackled a tiny
cackle that was intended to be a laugh.
"Let me go," the girl finally managed. "I've got to go," she said.
"But my precious, you haven't properly thanked me," the wee man said.
"What?" she asked, not sure she'd heard him right.
"You must thank me for helping you," said the wee man. "I've helped you
out of your predicament. Now, you must thank me."
And she watched with horror as the wee man began to disrobe. He soon stood naked, his wizened, stooped-over body an ugly sight to behold. She wept. He crawled into the tiny bed with her, his nakedness pressing against her; she could feel him there. His rough hands felt her out and she tried to pull away from him, knowing she didn't want to feel his touch.
But, gradually, as he caressed her, something came upon her -- the same feelings she had had earlier when Dan Thompson had felt for her. The wee man ran his hands over her and into her private places, so that she no longer pulled back from him, but found that she sought out his touch. And even as she did so, she wept, knowing it was wrong, but unable to prevent it from happening.
Her passion grew. She tried to keep him from her. But to no avail. Finally, he came into her and she knew him well. "Thankyou, my precious," he moaned as he had her. "Thankyou, my precious."
And, finally, they both lay, spent, exhausted from the lustful act. The girl sobbed. The wee man slept.
And, at that moment, there was an awful commotion about the cabin.
"Julie!" called out a voice. "Are you in there?"
"Julie Sharpeson!" called out another voice.
And she was saved.
Her rescuers carried her from the wee man's cabin, taking her for medical help, and they gathered up the remains of Dan Thompson, although there were few to be gathered, and they led away the wee man in chains after giving him a sorry beating so that he was bloody and broken.
Then, she went home to her soft, four-poster bed in faerie land and slept. She slept for two days, and when she awoke, it was like it had all been a dream- - or perhaps a nightmare -- but it was soft around the edges and nearly forgotten. She returned to school and there was little talk. Dan Thompson was absent but he surely must have the measles or some other malady to make him miss two weeks.
In her dreams, the wee man came to her often. He felt for her and she longed for him. She wept as he loved her.
"There, there, my precious," said the strange, wee man. "There, there, my precious."
And they lived happily ever after.