The Harpies of Helsmoth

Being the new guy in town is never easy.

Now my experience moving here, to Helsmoth, a small town of a couple of thousand residents in the middle of nowhere in the northeast has been anything but easy. I came here because I needed a break from the busy city life. I needed a change, and so I made the move here. I thought it would be peaceful here, but it’s anything but.

The first night in town, I realized it’s bloody dead here at night. Don’t let the size of the town fool you, it’s not because this place is relatively small. It’s not some agrarian sub-commune-based town where there’s some rule against going out at night because everyone’s got to get up at sunrise to work their farm.

Nah, that’s not it.

There is an unspoken, well generally, rule against going out at night.

My second day here, right after I’ve settled in and unpacked my stuff, I hit the local bar. Bars are a good place for social interaction. I guess I was sticking out like a sore thumb out there because the bartender did question me on whether I was new the second I order my beer.

“You new here, pal?” he asked as he poured the golden beverage into a clear glass mug.

“Aye, is it that obvious?” I questioned, surprised he’d notice so quickly and trust me, I look the same as everyone there, I act the same, I have a local accent. I had no clue how he managed to notice.

He handed me the mug and smiled, “Well, yeah, you came in here pretty late. Locals don’t do that.”

Odd, I thought that was definitely odd seeing as how the bar wasn’t exactly empty. I looked around just to make sure. There were definitely people there.

I took a sip of the beer and questioned, “It’s not that late, and people are obviously here so…”

“Well yeah, you see, they came here a while ago. Nobody goes out here at night. Only the hopeless and the suicidal ones,” he answered.

That definitely caught me by surprise.

“Whatcha mean?”

The man’s expression changed quickly; it became far more solemn in a moment’s notice. It’s like I had reminded him of something awful, almost like I hit a soft spot. I took another sip of my drink. The Booze slowly made its way down my throat, and I gulped audibly.

“Well?” I questioned.

The man stared at me coldly, “Listen to me, and listen to me carefully, pal. I don’t care who you are, and where you came from – you don’t go outside at night around here!” he contained his bark. “Those things, they’d tear anyone to shreds…”

That was a weird reaction. I tensed up a little seeing as the man lowered his tone at the end of that. I wasn’t so much confused as I was getting pissed. None of his fault, more so my own, can’t control it.

“What things?” I questioned, trying to mask my visible agitation. I was interested in knowing the ins and outs of this place. Obviously, I planned to stick around for a while, might as well get to know the place.

The explanation that followed was nothing like what I expected.

“Well, pal, we don’t really know. They’re some kind of monsters or something…” the man said, without a hint of hesitation.

I was caught off guard, I wasn’t as much shocked as I was bemused by this exclamation. I thought the man might be pranking me, the new guy, but I did my best to avoid making it obvious that I wasn’t buying it.

“You can laugh, man, you can laugh all you want, but they won’t care. These winged fuckers will make you into their dinner if they get their claws on you. They’ll do it like they did it to my Jon… My sweet, sweet boy… they, they…” the man broke down, his voice quivered.

I wasn’t sure at that moment that the bartender was genuine. For all I knew, Big Foot was a hoax that spiraled out of control. The three dudes in charge of the whole admitted that much a few years ago.

I know I probably came off inconsiderate, but then again, I can’t control it, I’m a little off my own rails. That’s why I came here in the first place, to get my head fixed. “Winged fuckers… What are you talking about? Is this some sort of local monster folk legend thing?”

“Oh, it’s all real, buddy, it’s all too real…” the man croaked in a breaking voice, trying to hold his discomfort back.

“What is it then?” I demanded to know.

“Like I’ve said, we don’t know. Some call them angels, others call them birdmen, I’ve heard moth men in plural, too a few times.” The man explained.

“Huh? Sounds like bullshit but continue.” I retorted.

I know, rude, but again, the atmosphere wasn’t doing me any favors.

“Oh no, it’s all real. It started twenty years ago when I was a young man like yourself. This ultra-religious family was living at the edge of the town, the Jacobsons. So, one day Christina Jacobson started complaining about her kid constantly speaking of seeing angels. You’d expect a religious person to take it as a good sign. The Jacobsons while they were religious, they were also reasonable. I guess she thought her son’s seeing shit that’s not there, or maybe the description of these angels made her worry.

“We never got to know.

“See, while at first Christina thought her son’s having some problem, she came to realize her son’s seeing something physical when they started finding feathers all over their porch every morning.”

I sat there, dumbfounded. That sounded like a typical urban legend. Something from a long time ago you can’t confirm and all that. I listened, nonetheless.

“A couple of months after the initial mention of the boy seeing stuff, they were all dead…” he said.

My heart sunk.

“They were found torn to shreds by something. I won’t go into detail. They were found in a pool of blood, guts, and feathers. None of us knew what this meant, nor the cops, nobody knew what would come next. It was an unsolved case for a few months. Then; my turn came.”

I could see his eyes well up, and I didn’t want him to talk about something that hurt him if he wasn’t comfortable, despite my outward mannerisms.

“Ya don’t have to tell me…” I said.

“It’s fine, anyway,” he wiped his face before continuing, “One day, while I was out with my son, Jonathan, we were driving from his athletics competition out of town and something crashed onto my car, flipping it over.

“When I opened my eyes, I was lying there, dazed and in a sea of pain. The first thing I saw…” He paused, his eyes welling up again.

I felt uncomfortable, “Don’t tell me, man… You don’t…”

He cut me off, with his voice cracking, “I saw that thing… that ugly winged thing… it was chewing on… on…”

I slammed my fist onto the counter, “I’ve heard enough… Thank you for the tip.” I shot up from my seat and reached for my wallet.

He began apologizing frantically. I didn’t want to know any more, I just handed him his money and made my way out.

The weirdest thing about it all is how unconcerned with the matter everyone around us seemed to be. I guess people do adapt to everything thrown at them. As sad as it may sound, that’s how we are.

I guess it fueled my anger and discomfort even more, but to be honest, I’d probably act the same now as everyone else did in the bar that day.

Anyhow, I left the bar and went back into my car. I needed to get home. I wasn’t in a good place mentally at that point. I know driving under influence is a no-no, but it was just one beer and I wasn’t even feeling the alcohol. I guess my mood sobered me up on the spot. So, no harm done.

I don’t do it regularly, so… I’ll be fine.

Either way, as I was driving, I wasn’t lost in thought. I was lost in the road. I guess I instinctively took the wrong route just to drive out my frustration. I’ve done it before; I’ll do it again in the future. I just drove off with no aim.

Completely lost in the road.

I wasn’t driving too fast, or even in any way recklessly, just burning off gas.

Somehow, by sheer luck or misfortune I should say, I ended up on a small road leading to a secluded estate. An old and seemingly abandoned one.

Something caught my eye there, the name on the mailbox.

“Jacobson”

“Fucking hell!” I yelled out to myself.

For some reason, I got out of the car and started looking around the lightless path. I mused going up the path and knocking on the door, perhaps to shed some light on the story and the truth in it.

I was never the most forethought of people.

I marched up and down the first part of that small path, assuming I should go up to the estate and then giving up on the idea. That went on for a few minutes until I saw something fly in the sky, in a perfect circle above the estate.

It caught my eye with its sheer size.

A massive bird.

A chill ran across my body; I thought about for a millisecond.

Without noticing, I ran back to my car.

The moment I ignited the engine, I heard a loud screech coming from behind me.

That was followed by a loud bang coming from the roof of my car.

Everything shook.

Screeching cries and the sound of metal on metal flooded my ears.

“Shit” I cursed under my breath.

My mind went blank.

I pressed the gas pedal after switching the gear to reverse, and I kept going until I hit a tree.

I kept pressing on the pedal until I heard the scrapping stop and disgusting gurgling noises echoed in my car.

I fucking hate my own mental autopilot.

Regardless, once the noise died down completely, I stepped out of my car and boy, what a scenery greeted me.

Pressed between my car and the tree was an ugly bastard of a creature; partially covered in feathers. It definitely had wings and talons. Other than that, it looked like a deformed human with no hair and a head that looked like a mix between a rat and a human, with very sharp teeth. The eyes were very bulged out.

I don’t know if that’s how they were all along, or as a result of being crushed by my car.

I stared at it for a moment, feeling as my guts rolled in response to the sight.

Out of the blue blood came bursting out of its mouth and its head went limp.

The fucker managed to startle me by dying long after I had thought I had killed it.

That’s when I got back into my car, after feeling my gastric juices make their way up my throat, and drove off home quickly.

Ever since then, I don’t come out at night.

Whatever these things are, they are real, and they are haunting Helsmoth. I’m gonna stay here for a while, but not too long. Living like this is a pain in the ass.

Anyway, I wouldn’t tell you to stay away. Not my job, but I am issuing a warming if you’re looking for a quiet place to move to in the northeast; beware the harpies of Helsmoth.