Our lives are lived in fear. Everyday, we hear stories of his attacks. People say he's mad, that he's homeless. Some say he's clever, and that he takes advantage of us.

We moved over here recently, it's bigger than our older place. It's safer as well, being out in the desert. There is nothing he would want from here; just a few dead bushes and the occasional body of water. It's safe, that is all. The only disadvantage is that only few animals live out here, so we are stuck with basic foods, like beef and pork.

It's a shame Mother isn't here still, to keep us company. I'll never forget what happened. We live in fear of more than him. The monsters are always here. Even in the desert, the diseased people still attack us. That's another story. You want to know?

Before we knew of cooking meat, we would just eat it straight off of the animal. It tasted fine, and as far as we were concerned it was healthy. But people began to become sick. It happened to my friend, I'll never forget it. His pupils, slowly dilating until his eyes were completely black, and his skin becoming a sickening green as he made deep, pained moans of agony. We presumed he was dead.

The next day, we found him running around in the sunlight, his skin burning. He was making groans of discomfort, and running for the nearest body of water. His skin was slowly melting off, bones becoming visible. He slowly sounded more and more angry. As the final chunk of flesh burned off, he stopped. He turned around, eyes still in his head, hanging on loose strings of flesh. And then he wandered on.

People began to come down with it all over our area, even out in the snowy plains. Only few survived. We then decided to try and find a solution to this. Having witnessed the effect of heat on victims, we tried to heat up the meat. It worked perfectly. From then on, not a single citizen has came down with the illness.

Now I've explained the monsters, I suppose I should tell you about the incident with one of them.

Me and my Mother had just collected water from the nearest river, and were on our way home, when I heard one of those unforgettable moans. It can't have been any young love makers in our village, as we were still while away! We turned around to be faced by an infected, strolling slowly towards us, and my Mother was it's target. She told me to run home, with the water.

All I remember seeing as I turned around for one last glimpse was seeing it punch her down to the floor, then slowly chew her. I only heard munching sounds as I ran away, not the birds, not the wolfs, not the sheep. My mind was fixated on the creature munching her flesh off mouthful by mouthful.

My instincts were shouting at me: "Go Back! Save Her! Stop Being Selfish!" But listening to them would have been crazy. As selfish as it was, I had to survive, and I had no choice but to do so.

The matter was slowly forgotten. We simply don't have the time to waste on mourning. It was only months later that something much worse happened. We'd heard rumours everywhere, that our village was next. The Blue Man had recently been stealing crops at a village only 2 Kilometres away, and that there was nowhere closer to him than us.

The next morning these rumours were realised. As he walked up the path, I was just at the blacksmith. I saw him coming and ran inside. I heard foot steps from outside of the door, and began to break a small sweat. My eyes darted about, trying to look for exits. No way out.

I could only hide in the corner, next to a chest full of valuables. If he's clever, I'm dead. He'll come here straight away, killing me and looting all of the goods. I saw a shadow slip through the door way, and there he was. He locked eyes with me, and said:

"I'm here for my stuff!" In a voice like an asylum escapee.

He walked over to the chest, and pulled it open with no effort. He took all that was in it. I didn't even try to stop him. I thought I was safe, but he turned around. He looked at me and said:

"That emerald in your pocket. Give to me or I'll take it." In a bully like voice, like a thug asking for lunch money. He un-sheathed a sword, made of gold. He swung at me, to show his intent.

"For one price," I said.

"Go one then.." He mumbled, tiresomely.

"What is your name?" I asked inquisitively.

He looked at me sharply. A confused and satisfied look swept across his face. He leaned over, and told me. It was such a common name, but a name I'll never forget. I was told not to tell a soul, even after I'd given him the emerald. His name, for if you wanted to know, was