Hours later, well after nightfall, Benoit found himself again standing on unfamiliar ground. The location was as deep into the manor’s rural exterior as he had ever been. All around him were tall trees with dark green leaves. The only light came courtesy of a series of candles place throughout the woods. Benoit could only see what was directly ahead of him. He could also discern a ring of shadowy shapes watching him from the gloom. These, he assumed, were other members of the Master’s secret organization known as the Witchfinders. One of their lot was none other than the Master himself, who walked forward and spoke.
“Benjamin Benoit. For weeks now you have undergone intense training. You have honed your body until it is as strong and deadly as a jungle cat. You have also strengthened your soul with the Good Word. I have seen much progress from you. Now, in this final hour of instruction, you shall learn what it means to be a Witchfinder. The council and I can only watch you. Our aid will not come. The stakes are as high as they can be. Best of luck, and God speed.” With that, the Master retreated back into the darkness. Benoit could feel the eyes of the Witchfinders on him, yet he felt decidedly alone.
There was something else in the darkness. Between the trees, Benoit spied a shape slinking through. It looked long and lean, and moved with a subtle grace. The shadow felt unnatural. Benoit tightened his grip on the wooden stake in his hand and lifted the mallet at the same time. He knew what such weapons were for, but until that night, he considered their use a pure horror movie contrivance. He did not consider them real in any meaningful sense.
Benoit watched the figure glide through the forest. At times it came close to the members of the council, but always slunk away at the last minute. This showed signs of fear, which helped to harden Benoit’s nerves. “If I defeat what this thing is, then I’ll be a Witchfinder,” he told himself. Benoit crept forward. He kept his movements slow and deliberate, and he made every attempt to stalk the creature as if it were game. When it moved to the left, he moved to the left. When it moved to the right, he moved to the right. This dance continued until, without warning, the creature lunged from out of the darkness and came into the candlelight. Every muscle and tendon in his body tensed up, and a flood of sweat broke out from his brow, but Benoit felt his spine stiffen into titanium. He stood firm and made ready for battle.
A momentary shock gave the creature enough time to pounce on Benoit’s shoulders and pin him to the hard forest floor. Benoit had expected a hideous monstrosity to be his assailant, so he was taken aback to see that his attacker was an ordinary woman. Plain looking and pretty in her own way, the woman had dark hair, pale skin, and light-colored eyes that Benoit would have found pleasant in any other circumstance. She wore a simple sweater with blue jeans and basketball shoes. In essence, she appeared to be the apex of normality and the opposite of evil.
But, as the woman kneeled on top of his shoulders, Benoit discerned other things about the woman. He noticed that her eyes were full of malice, with the pupils floating all alone in a sea of white. In a flash, Benoit recalled a Japanese infograph certain sets of eyes. The woman’s unnatural pupils correlated with what the Japanese believed were the eyes of either the incurably insane or the demonically possessed. He recognized these signs at the same time as he discovered a foul, almost funereal smell coming from the crazed woman’s clothing. She smelled like something that had spent a long time buried.
The woman emitted a low growl as she reached for Benoit’s throat. She curled her fingers and made a slashing motion that missed him by less than an inch. Using his legs to buck upwards, Benoit shifted his shoulders and flung the woman off of him. Now standing, Benoit swung the mallet, but missed the woman’s head by a mile. The failed blow sent him on his knees, where he had to quickly dodge another lunge. For a few seconds, the two combatants circled each other. The woman exposed her teeth, which were large and white. Saliva dripped from the sides of her mouth like an exhausted cur. Everything about her was more animal than human. Benoit panted heavily as he considered his next, and hopefully final, gambit.
The woman lashed out with a wild swipe of his palm, which Benoit caught. Shifting all of his weight to his back foot, he switched his hips and flipped the woman over his shoulder. She landed with a loud thud. Benoit gained the advantage by stomping on the woman’s ankles repeatedly, then using one knee to press down on her thigh while the other was placed under her armpit. He placed the forearm of the mallet hand across the woman’s windpipe. He leaned forward until he heard the woman choke on her own spit. Benoit raised the stake and aimed for the heart. He brought the stake down hard, but the point failed to pierce the skin. The woman writhed in agony as Benoit repeatedly tried to drive the stake home, each time wounding her a bit more. Finally, on what must have been the fifth attempt, the stake pierced the skin and stayed upright. Benoit removed his forearm from the woman’s throat, and using both hands, swung the mallet downwards. Blood and other substances exploded from the wound. The woman’s body twisted at unnatural angles, and her damaged throat uttered howls of indescribable torment. Benoit’s heart sunk as he realized that the woman was pinned to the earth and bleeding, but far from dead. He had failed.
The sound of clapping came from the shadows. The Witchfinders all walked forward into the light. One by one they removed their hoods. Benoit saw all of their faces for the first time. They were a shockingly average group. Most were forty and above. Some had beards, while others were clean shaven. Some looked like college professors, while others looked like truck drivers.
“Well done,” the Master said. “I was never once worried.”
“But I was,” Benoit said in order to lighten the mood. He was still reeling from the fact that he had passed the test. “Master, I do not mean to question anything, but” Benoit pointed down to the still writhing woman, “she is still alive.”
“Not at all, my son. She died several days ago. And as for her current predicament, it will be easily rectified by Mr. Rousseau.” As if on cue, the drill sergeant detached himself from the group and produced a curved blade of significant size. Rousseau kneeled down, and with one deft motion, detached the woman’s head from her body. Benoit felt his legs grow heavy and his mind weak.
“No time for that, my son,” the Master said. “We will get you to bed. We will have your feast tomorrow morning. A good night’s rest will be your immediate reward. And you must take it, for tomorrow night you will conduct your first patrol.”
“My first patrol?”
“Yes, you will meet your new partner, who will be your guide as you grow into becoming a full Witchfinder.”
“Will I have to do more of this?” Benoit pointed at the bloodied corpse of the woman.
The Master’s gaze lowered, and his brow furrowed. “Do not pity that poor wretch. You no doubt understand that she was what is commonly called a vampire. She did not look like an archetypal vampire, but that is exactly what she was. And unlike what you have seen and read; she made a choice to become such a loathsome thing. She deliberately brought that curse upon herself. There are thousands who do such wickedness. Our mission is to find them and bring them to eternal justice. Her soul is now awaiting the Lord’s judgement. You may pray for her if you like. But come,” the Master placed a hand on Benoit’s shoulders, “let us get you to bed.”
While walking back to the house, the Master handed Benoit a piece of newspaper. “I thought that you would like to read this.”
Benoit looked down and read an obituary. He read it once, then he read it a second time. It was his obituary.
“But…but my family.”
“Have been provided for,” the Master said. “They know that you are alive but know nothing more than that. Your mission now is with your new family…us. You now have a purpose—the only purpose worth fighting for, I think. You are now one of the rare few with God-given duty of protecting your fellow man the infernal. You will not fail in your task.”
With that, the Master left Benoit alone to ponder the titanic significance of his new life.