The Wanderer's Curse

Every ounce of medicine and food sustaining our village came from the Garden of Before; it had for generations. It had always existed, predating even the eldest in the village. Until He willingly and joyfully blighted our lifeline with malice and decay.

The Garden of Before was once bright and vibrant, with vivid colors that seemed unreal. Its beauty alone felt like enough to cure any ailment. Its crop, however, could cure all sickness and feed all hunger. Not anymore. Now it is a dark, festering wound in the earth. Color does not exist in the Garden anymore. Just as the colors didn’t seem real, the lack thereof seems impossible.

He came to the village a month ago. He has no name, or at the very least never shared it when we took him in. To us, He was only known as The Wanderer. He appeared bloody and covered in dirt, clothes tattered and torn. His only defining feature was a tattoo on his chest of some strange runic symbol. A wheeze overtook every breath he took. The doctor knew he was sick and offered to take care of him, thus he was granted welcome into the village for treatment.

A couple of days ago, the doctor, Samuel, killed himself by ingesting what now “grows” in the Garden. The note found on his person stated he felt he deserved to be killed by the flower he watered instead of snuffing it out. No village member blames Samuel, but we can’t tell him that now.

After he was well, he asked if he could see the garden that saved his life. Outsiders are forbidden from seeing the Garden, but the village elders allowed The Wanderer in. Looking back, we realize that they didn’t allow admittance to the garden. The elders don’t remember convening. He did something to them; he took control somehow. We still don’t understand.

When he entered the Garden of Before, The Wanderer seemed unimpressed, almost like he had seen something of this beauty before. He drifted around the garden, taking every path, and studying every crop. Then he left. He merely turned away and walked out of the village, saying no word to anyone he passed.

Two days later, we noticed. The Garden began to die. Color was fading and in its place was darkness. Black, thick liquid came up from the ground and started swallowing everything. The Garden, what once gave us life, began to infect the village. Deaths mounted and sickness overtook families that perished together. We will not survive, the village is doomed.

Eventually, a small vial bearing the same mark as The Wanderer’s chest was found in the ooze taking over the Garden.

On the vial was the word “torment.”