FIRST PLACE -- SHORT STORY; THE SCOURGE

It was the Year of our Lord, 1317, in Sicily, where I saw the strange visitor. It had been a time of struggle, with messengers arriving with word of disease plaguing parts of Europe. I was only eleven years of age at the time, working at the docks in Messina, delivering inspection results and other such things to merchants and ship captains, so as to supplement our family's income, which was very poor. The man I worked for, Joseph Nagle, the harbormaster, would give me a coin or two if I put in enough work. He was a nice man, and would speak a word or two with me, and even strike up a pleasant conversation if he was in the mood. He was a good man, who I enjoyed working for, for he was never foul in word or act to me, which pleased me.

In early fall that year, trade was concentrated in the north, giving my dockmates and I plenty to do. On a particularly cold day, while I was eating a late lunch of buttered rye bread, an apple, and a bit of water, Joseph approached me.

'Afternoon, son,' he said.

'Good afternoon to you, Joe,' I answered, watching a ship named The Host dock.

'You gotten wind of the rumors of an epidemic about?'

'Yea, sure did, from John, across the way there. Says some merchants from the Gobi saw it, tearin'through the city he just left.' Dockers had successfully tied down The Host, and were laying a boarding plank from the dock to the merchant ship.

'Aye, heard it from my own brother that those southern merchants were bringin' it up with them. Gov'ner's trying to start a wait period with the merchants, before they let off their ship, to see if they're carrying it with 'em. He hasn't got it posted yet, though.'

'Aye, I heard that myself from old John yonder,' I exclaimed.

'Well, keep an eye out for the scourges carryin' that disease, will you boy?'

'Sure will, Joe,' I answered, then he walked away. I watched the ship a bit more, as men started carrying wooden crates out of the hold, and onto a cart to be pulled ashore. As I finished my apple, and threw the core into the cold water, a glimpse of a flag or shadow, colored black, caught my eye. I turned my head to see it, but saw nothing. Only sailors and dockmen unloading The Host.

I started to turn away, and go back to the message station, when a flash of black flew again. I quickly looked back, and saw a very distinct black shape weaving between the men on the crowded dock. As I looked closer, I saw that it was a man, in loose black garb, with a hooded cloak pulled far forward, shadowing his face from any light. At first glance, I assumed the man was simply employed on the ship. As I kept looking, though,

I noticed he was not as burly and tanned as the other sailors. From what little I saw of his hands, which occasionally made appearance from under his roughly sewn cloak, they were plainly very white, as if they lacked any pigment at all. I concluded that he was a beggar, a stowaway, and gave him no more thought. -3 3 3 -3 3 Late that evening, as my shift came to an end, I shuffled tiredly toward the main gate, to check out. I saw then the curious black-clothed man I had noticed earlier that day, standing next to Joe, facing the sea. From the distance I could not tell, but it seemed

that they were engaged in conversation. The man in black then touched the back of Joseph's shoulder, and Joe shivered. The man tuned around, and then saw me staring straight at him. He returned the stare, which made me uncomfortable, because though I could not see his eyes, for his hood was pulled so far forward, and the sun was coming from the opposite direction, I could still feel his eyes, prying at me, pushing through me, like I was a heavy curtain hanging in front of a window in the springtime. His cold stare forced me to turn away, and continue walking toward the dock area exit.

After I checked out and started the trek across the few blocks to my home, I saw the hooded man again, walking through the streets. He walked slowly, casually, peering over shoulders to look at streetside vendors' carts, and sometimes reaching out and touching someone for no apparent reason. I thought that odd, but I continued my walk. I arrived at my home just as the sun finished setting. My mother and father greeted me, giving me a bowl of soup for my supper. My thoughts stayed on the darkclothed man I had seen, wondering where he came from, what he was doing. He seemed strange, like a figure right out of a dream. I went to bed still thinking of him.

The following day, a great many men that worked at the harbor had taken sick leave, including Joe, and many sickly looking people were roaming the streets. I saw the black-cloaked man many times, who just seemed to walk through the city. His presence caused an unevenness within me. The way he walked, or a movement of his arm that seemed strangely out of place, built up a certain anxiety in me. I came to fear the sight of him, though no other person would take notice of him. I thought

many times he was Death himself, but the Reaper took people honorably. This figure, this concentration of immorality, was something much darker.

I worked hard at the docks, having to make up for the lost efforts of the sick men. The insufficient amount of labor was so stressful that even I was put to work with the sailors, loading and unloading ships, filling my thin arms with what I could carry. I started to feel the dark one's presence was not on that was natural, or that should have been at all. Once again, the end of the day came, and I walked home. I again saw the dark one, roaming the city randomly, but not without purpose. He went from house to house, some, just reaching in the window, others, going right in, then returning, and still others, he passed entirely. The possibilities of what and who he was flew through my mind. Gabriel? Was God sending an angel of death down upon us again? These thoughts frightened me.

I ran the rest of the way home, hoping not to see him anymore. I burst through the door, ran to my bed, and sunk into the covers, afraid that morning would not come.

Next morning, I heard the shouts of fanatics outside as I was eating a cold breakfast. I walked outside, and saw a score of flagellants walking the streets. They shouted, The Black Death had arrived in Sicily! The Lord has come to avenge the sins of the world! Apocalypse is upon US!' This, and similar messages, they repeated, whipping themselves as punishment for the sins of other people. They drew an impressive crowd, filling the main square as they preached their message. Then I saw him. The hooded figure, looking at me, with his cold, unseen eyes. He tilted his head to the side, then pulled back his hood. In horror, I gazed upon a bewildering sight. The man had eyes and a mouth that were stitched shut by thick, black threads. Though his eyes were closed, I still felt his stare, as if I were the only thing he saw. A numb feeling came upon me, as I felt the evil and hatred flow from him to me. His hatred filled my body, paining my muscles, joints, and anything that moved. I forced myself to look away, but still felt a psychic empathy between him and me, a strange, frightening connection of mind. It hurt to look at him. No one else in the crowd realized his existence, this unnatural creature's horrendous show of self. The man suddenly turned and walked steadily toward the harbor.

Time seemed slow as I ran after him, blindly, not thinking, feeling a wrongness about him. He walked with a fast pace, touching people he could not see or wam. I followed after him, catching up, and opened my mouth to speak to him. He turned quickly, piercing me with his eyeless stare. He lifted his long, thin arm slowly, reaching for my head. I tried to move, but found that I couldn't, paralyzed with fear. His hand seemed to move in a manner so slow that Time itself was wearing out. As his hand moved nearer, a cold wind hit me. It was a strange anomaly, the wind, because I was the only one it touched with its deathly cold. Then, he touched the center of my forehead with a white, icy finger. I felt drained of all strength at that moment, his chill touch making me shiver. He turned and left then, heading toward the docks.

I fell to the ground, dizzied, and tired. I watched as the man disappeared behind the crowd of people, leaving me with his mark of death on my soul. I pulled myself

from the ground, finding the strength to walk again. I walked to the docks, where I saw the scourge run aboard a ship just as it was leaving.

'Good morning, boy,' said a voice behind me. I turned to see that it was John. 'I've got sorry news. Joseph passed on yesterday. He had the disease. It's here, boy. Have you seen the flagellants?'

'Yes, John,' I answered. 'I saw them.' My mind turned back on the scourge, that ethereal form of pure evil. 'John, what's that ship there? The one that's leaving?'

'Boy, I believe that's The Host. They've a cargo to take to England. They got permission to leave just before the governor's order for the harbor to be closed. They're trying to stop the plague from spreading, I expect.'

I sat down, disheartened, and watched the ship leave the harbor as the presence of the evil scourge lifted, slowly heading toward England. I started to sicken again, feeling sweat from on my face. 'Too late,' I whispered.