Clan MacBean

It was an eerie lit night. As I wandered across the moors. To find myself following the pursuit of all those missing people. The 1,000 odd people missing over a few years. The seers had met me at the inn and discussed what they had seen, in their dreams, for they say it is a man missing with his 40 odd strong clan. They headed for the mountains. Wild folk. Disappearing messengers into thin air. Never seen again. Scarier than anything from hell. This thing is human. Goes by the name of Seany Bean. His clan of 40 people wild as they come. To what means of disappearance I cannot say. The seers allude to maybe witchcraft. Surely not. The ancient wizardry still lingers of the highlands. Where druids would rule, they would use magic against the beasts that roamed wild.

I caught the track of a wee boy carrying a body with his pal. For they had not seen me and they were muttering the Gaelic, making their way to a cave. In this cave I pulled out a musket and powder keg and shouted “Right, if you move, the keg will explode!”

It was clan MacBean. The Gaelic speaking swine I had been tracking. The clan that had gone rogue. For food was a scarcity.

The skeletons cluttered the cavern floor. Hundreds of them. I am piecing this together. Sure enough food is scarce in the highlands, but there are some wild animals. This clan must have a taste for human flesh. For it is the belief to possess the skill of your enemy. To consume them. Or is it a primal desire. Something as wild as the highlands. For the curses of the ancient spirits will drive a mind mad.

“Is Seany here? I shouted. “Aye I am Seany. I can speak the lowlands tongue.” “Then you can answer me. Where have the 1,000 people that have gone missing since the summer. What are all of these skeletons doing? Is this them? Oh my lord it is them!”

“Yes we have eaten them. And yes you shall be next. Rhuadri, block the exit of the cave. You blow that keg, the cave comes down. You will be our 1,001st victim. There is no escape.” As I darted off, two large highlanders blocked my path. As they swung their claymores down to behead the detective, they feasted on a newly butchered errand boy.

For they use traps to hunt these messengers at night. And as the fog haunted the moors. The seers in the lowlands had a terrible dream. For the detective had been taken that night. The dreams of seers were haunted and delirious.

The ones who could see dead in their dreams and the last summer had been heavily cursed. The time was right for the Bishop of Dornoch to take his army up to where MacBean’s cave. They had been warring against Covenanters, now they were tasked with massacring the heathen animalistic and cannibal pagans. This is the Highlands. Where religion is extreme. They burn witches to ashes. Some are too extreme even for the Church and are banished to the New World. For what can rile a war priest is to hurt his pride. Nothing can save clan MacBean. They stepped too far this time. And as the army smote the Beans with their axes and shot them to shreds and shards. The enemy was defeated. For it is a moral victory. When the clans wage war the earth shakes. The sins are wiped from the mind and the good word of God prevails.