You get off the train, clutching your luggage in your hand. You look around at the small village of less than 500 people, you feel at peace. It feels quite different from the noisy din of the city streets, as if stepping off the train has sent you 100 years into the past. You make your way to the Brandywell, hoping to dodge the oncoming rain. The dark clouds slowly roll over you, wiping away the village’s peaceful atmosphere.

Making your way to the front counter, you see an old man wearing sunglasses. Thinking it a bit odd, you ask him about it. He blames his kids. Saying that they installed the wrong light bulbs and that his eyes are not what they used to be. On the counter sits a photo frame, and in it you see the old man with his arm wrapped around the shoulder of Dr O’Sullivan, the man who is the reason you are here. O’Sullivan’s intensely deep eyes juxtapose the simple blue eyes of the old man. He pulls your attention away from the photo by offering you a cup of tea. As you both wait, he asks you why you’re here. After finding out that you are going to visit an old friend of his, he tells you that his son has to go there to drop off some supplies, and that he’ll be more than happy to give you a ride.

After getting your tea you make your way up to your room. Sitting the steaming cup of tea on the table, you unpack your suitcase and prepare for tonight’s interview. You are nervous, so make sure that you are prepared with everything that you will need: a notebook, a few pens, and a voice recorder as he requested that he must not be filmed. He said that he would only be available during the night, so you make the best of the remaining few hours that you have by finishing the tea and warming yourself up in a hot shower before resting ‘til nightfall.

The rain falls heavily past the window, blocking your view of the buildings outside. The occasional flickers of lightning streaking through the sky. You jolt awake. Still heavy-eyed, you look at the clock on the wall, and force yourself out of bed. Wrapping your coat around your body, you grab your bag and open the door. Lightning floods the hallway with light, exposing a pair of dark green eyes staring at you through a crack in the door opposite you. The door slams shut.

You think nothing of it.

You walk down the stairs, making your way to the front door. Unfurling your umbrella, you step out onto the porch. You stare out into the flickering darkness, looking for the car that is supposed to be parked out front. Spotting it down the road, you stumble towards it through the rain. As you force your way closer a figure blocks your path. Wrapped tightly in a large puffy raincoat, it walks straight towards you. The inevitability of the collision staring you right in the face. Your umbrella falls from your hands, as his sunglasses fly off his face and his wallet slips out of his pocket. Apologising profusely, you pick up his wallet and pass it back to him. You look up at him, only to see that the glasses are already sliding back up the bridge of his nose. However just before they reach their destination, you think that you see nothing where his eyes should be.

You might still be delirious.

You make it to the car and get inside. Looking at the young man, you can already see the similarities between him and his father, particularly in the eyes. You strap yourself in and notice a collection of glass jars, and labelled boxes full of chemicals. After double-checking that you had everything you need, you set off. Making small talk with him along the way. As you drive through the village, you think that you can see people staring at you through the window.

You could be wrong.

He parks out front of a small rundown shack. You help him move the boxes onto the porch. He goes inside to let the doctor know that you’re here. A few minutes later you are let inside. You move to turn the light on, only for your hand to be slapped away from the light switch.

“Don’t touch that.” O’Sullivan chastises. “This room is full of some very delicate samples. Any long exposure to light will damage them.”

You apologise for the mistake, however spotting some potential material for your article, you ask to see the specimens.

“I’m exhausted, Let’s just start the interview.”

You find that reasonable. You too would be exhausted of you had to work all day and night. Clicking your recording pen, you start off by asking him some basic questions; about his family, how long he’s been in this field of research, etc. To fulfill his wishes, you make sure to be brief with these questions. 10 minutes mass before the interview moves towards the topic of his discovery.

“It started when I was visiting a friend of mine who lives in the village. He told me about some old legends surrounding the bogs nearby, and how someone would disappear from the village every year back in the early 20th century. Out of curiosity, I paid a visit to Corracramph Bog, and now I’ve been here for 5 years.”

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You can’t imagine how someone could decide to change their entire life on a whim, so you ask him why.

“Well, on the very first night when I was trudging through the bog, I saw a hand reaching towards the sky. I grasped the hand and pulled. Inch by inch, the body revealed itself. The most striking part of its appearance was its eyes. They were gouged out. Clawed out might be a better term, as if a feral beast tore them asunder.”

With that ghastly image floating around your mind, you ask if there were any signs that could tell us what killed them.

“Oddly enough, I couldn’t find any other wounds on the body. Except for the eyes, it was perfectly intact. I called my colleagues from the university almost immediately. Some of them arrived by train the very next day, with the rest arriving by car with the equipment a few days later. During that time, we searched through the bog and found a few more bodies. All just like the first.”

You can’t believe that so many people would rush to a small village just because of an old corpse. Then again, that is exactly why you are here.

“When the equipment arrived, the group split into two. One group stayed to carbon date the bodies that we had already found. The other searched around the rest of the bog for more bodies. Needless to say, we found more. It was the largest excavation of bog bodies in the world. With some dating back to the earliest times of human settlement in Ireland. All of them had their eyes gouged out. By this point, some people left. Spouting nonsense about how illogical this was, but I could tell that they were just afraid.”

You don’t blame them.

“We spent months searching, and by this time, only five of us were left, but I was no longer bothered by the absence of people. I felt something calling to me, so we dug throughout the night until we unearthed a cave entrance. Excited by our discovery we entered immediately. We found markings scratched into the cave entrance of five people walking into a small village. As we walked deeper into the cave, we came across a few semi demolished brick houses. On one of the bricks was another carving, of four people eating in one of the houses. Our stomachs growled as an aching hunger burned in our stomachs. We decided to rest in one of the huts, munching on the sandwiches we had prepared earlier in the day.

Having satiated our hunger, we continued to search through the village. At the end of the village was a larger more ornate building. A place of great importance to the village, seemingly acting as a place of worship. Scratched on the door was another image. Three people kneeling, praying. We made our way inside. A bright light pierced through the window on the far wall, blinding us and immediately forcing us to our knees. An image burned itself into my mind. Two people, one kneeling beside the fallen body of the other, his hand digging into the skull of the other.

I climbed through the back window, and in front of me stood a macabre altar, an animal skull wreathed in ling heather and purple-worm liverwort. With two empty eye sockets. A large stone wall stood behind it covered in carvings. They told the story of an ancient ritual, one where the local villagers would sacrifice their eyes to appease the gods. Gouging them out and leaving them on top of the altar as others chanted in a circle around them, praying to the gods for nourishment and protection.”

Goosebumps form on your skin as images of the ritual flow through your mind. You hold back the urge to vomit as you wait for him to continue.

“With the image of the altar burned into my mind, I found myself in the local library, scouring for information about the history of the village. As decades passed the village grew into a prosperous town as outsiders flooded in. They believed the ritual to be a bunch of superstitious nonsense and shunned the villagers for it. Calling them savages and making them build their own rundown village on the outskirts of the town. They built a church in front of it, hiding it away from the world. The rituals stopped and the altar quickly fell into disrepair. Eroding away until little remained. Paranoia consumed the village. People vanished throughout the night. The villagers grew restless as images of their lost friends burned themselves into their minds. Hopelessly praying to a god who never answered. Instead, being answered by the bestial and distorted wails of countless people. Crowding into the church, the villagers huddled together under the protection of their god. Their prayers drowned out by an archaic chanting coming from behind the church. The constant wailing and chanting shattering through their mental fortitude. Their minds broken they rushed towards the chanting smashing the window apart, witnessing the altar in all its glory. The shunned villagers kneeling and praying, as one stands in front of the altar.

There was a mass slaughter, where only a few people living on the outskirts remained. The town was demolished. Eventually a normal village grew in its place. The one that you just came from.”

Sweat drips down your forehead, stinging your eyes. Your hand trembles as the pen clatters across the floor

“Let me take you there.”

Lightning flashes outside the window, lighting up the room. Sitting across from you is an old man with hollow eye sockets.

Everything goes black

A dull pain rings through your head as you try to stand up. A heavy kick strikes the back of your knee, sending you to the ground. You look out in front of you and see an animal skull wreathed in ling heather and purple-worm liverwort. Surrounding it is a circle of preserved bodies. A chanting voice comes from behind you in a language unlike anything you’ve ever heard. Layered on top of the chanting is a scraping sound that is getting louder and louder. The sounds become a jarring cacophony as something ungulates into view. The sight of it burns itself into your mind. Your hands claw up your head. Gouge out your eyes. You scrape like a rabid beast, tearing the flesh asunder, your eyeball lulling outside the socket, tapping against your skull. Shakily standing, your hands rip the eyes out fully.

A soothing warmth envelops you.

All sounds stop as you slot the eyes into the altar.

You fall backwards, into the warmth.