My Pitchfork

I knew him briefly when we were children. When the time came for us to stop being children, we parted ways. I took over my father’s farm, married my beautiful wife and had two strong sons. I’ve led a good life. He went into the city in the hopes of starting a new life. He fancied himself an entrepreneur, but the rest of the world turned a deaf ear to his charm. He frequented the whorehouses and reduced his reputation to that of a petty criminal.

Not even a year had passed when news about my childhood acquaintance reached my ear. I suspected that he was stabbed or died of starvation. But his appetite for riches exceeded his ability to steal. He was caught in the act and in less than a week, he was sent to the gallows to be hung. It was a shame. Though he lacked the intellect of a professional, the dedication of a farmer, or the loyalty of a good husband, he had the strength of ten men.

His corpse had disappeared shortly after his sentence was carried out. It turns out some twisted thieves were quicker than the elements as the body was still fresh when it was discovered to be missing. I never would have thought I would see that body walking the streets of this village again, but some monstrosity has willed him back to life. Pure fear restricted me from saying anything of the true man’s identity. They may have affiliated me with the monster, condemning not only myself but my family as well.

We were never close. As I said, I knew him briefly when we were children. And now, I’m off to protect not just my family, but this village that I grew up in, that my children grew up in as well. This act of treason against all that is holy cannot go unpunished. I leave now to join the rest of my village in ridding forever the hideous travesty that terrorizes this humble land.

“Hand me my pitchfork! Tell the boys to get torches,” I yell to my good wife, “We’re off to Dr. Frankenstein’s laboratory to end this!”