The Return of the Hohchifos

Why were they looking at me like that? Their faces were hard, expressionless, as if something deeply upset them. Was it me?

"So... are you from here, from Louisiana?" I asked, my voice faint.

They remained silent. They all carried weapons, but they weren't Confederate soldiers. They were dressed like farmers. Was this a tactic to remain undetected by the enemy?

No one answered. They'd been staring at me with frowns from the moment I got into the carriage.

"By the way... thanks for letting me in. You were very kind."

Nothing. The silence remained heavy.

"So… where all are you going? Are you going to Mississippi? Things are very difficult there. I… am a soldier on the run from the war. I just want to get home."

If they're really headed to Mississippi, I'll have to get off the carriage. I mustn't take the wrong road.

Finally, one of them finally broke the silence.

"We know you're a soldier. And that you betrayed our homeland by running away like a coward."

I tensed.

"I... I had no choice. I just want to go back to my family."

"Coward," another snapped.

"You don't deserve to wear that uniform anymore," a third added.

"You would have had more honor dying on the front," the last said.

Their words were daggers. They hurt. Because deep down, I knew they weren't entirely wrong. I ran away. I abandoned my comrades. But what else could I do? Die like them? Turn into rotten meat on a field no one would remember?

It's something that still hurts deep in my heart. But... Who am I? Just a young man, a young man who didn't want to suffer the same fate as the rest of the young men who would have had a good future if it weren't for the war?

No. I want to live. Even though life itself doesn't guarantee peace, even though war isn't the only hell. My parents were an example that a peaceful life doesn't exist, no matter how hard one tries to achieve it.

These guys must not have peaceful lives. They seemed worried, but… why are they so irritated? I don't think it's me.

"You're right," I said finally. "I was a traitor. I don't deserve this uniform. I'll take it off when I get home. And even if they throw me out right now, I'll still believe I did the right thing by running away. I don't want to represent anyone. I just want peace. None of you were there. You didn't see what I saw. You don't know what happened."

I expected insults. But what came was worse.

"Look, kid," one said tersely. "We don't care if you're a coward or a hero. We only let you in the carriage because we needed an excuse to cross the border."

"What...?"

"We're headed to Arkansas. From there, to Missouri. We're going to hand you over to the Yankees. In exchange, they'll let us settle there."

My world fell apart. I shuddered.

"Are you going to hand me over...? Was that your plan? Is that why you let me in the carriage?"

They burst out laughing.

"Poor boy," one of them laughed. "We're the largest slave producers in Louisiana. If we want to survive, we have to negotiate. And you're our currency."

I tried to stand up, but they all drew their weapons instantly.

"One more move, and we'll hand you over without an arm or a leg," one threatened with a crooked smile.

I froze and sat back down. I had no chance. I only had one revolver, and there were five of them, armed and ready.

No… I don't want to shoot again. Not again. Not at another human being.

"Now sit you still and enjoy the ride. Be a good boy," one said, with a nasty laugh.

"You guys are…"

"We're what, huh? Say it. Come on, don't be afraid. No one's going to shoot you… yet," another laughed.

I gritted my teeth. They were ruining my only chance at freedom. I had to think. Do something. If there wasn't a way out, I had to invent one.

And then, the carriage jerked sharply. The horses whinnied loudly. Something was happening outside. What was it?

The men tensed.

"Check what's going on," one ordered.

One of them leaned out the window… and fell dead instantly. An arrow pierced his forehead. His skull exploded like a blood grenade. The body fell heavily to the ground.

The other four froze. Panic began to grip them.

"Indians? In this area? Impossible!" one shouted.

Everyone rushed to the windows. I approached too, my heart pounding.

Outside, there were no Indians.

They were white men. They wore strange clothing. They rode horses, carried bows… and wore demon masks carved from wood and painted with red and black symbols.

Who were they?

The farmers began firing wildly. One fell with another arrow straight in his chest. Blood spattered the others.

"They're surrounding us!" one shouted, pulling out a long rifle hidden between the carriage benches. The others fired revolvers, desperate.

Some of the masked men fell, but there were too many. At least forty.

One of the men died, his throat slashed by a blade thrown from a horse. His throat opened like a diseased flower.

Only two remained.

I, too, began to tremble. I no longer feared the slavers. Now, the terrifying thing was those faceless figures, with hollow eyes and smiles carved in wood.

One of the men murmured, his voice trembling, "God... they're the... Hohchifos..."

Hohchifos?

That name... I've heard it before.

No... it can't be...

Are they real?