TIMING: Recent, at night LOCATION: Emerald Oasis cave system PARTIES: Amos & Guillermo SUMMARY: The beast has been released from its confines. It hungers... CONTENT WARNINGS: Body horror, graphic depictions of violence
Their fangs bared with every snarl, the shifter tried to look as threatening as they could, but they were unfortunately a far cry from being the deadliest thing in this cave.
His magic bracelet had run out of charge a while ago – not that he could tell. It still dangled uselessly from his thin wrist, leaving his true appearance for all the world to see. Not quite human, not quite animal: a creature born and raised underground, the first of his generation to lack any eyes at all. His skin was deathly pale, his limbs elongated and extremely flexible to give him the dexterity needed to move over the slippery, uneven, underground terrain without harming himself. Buttons was given partial control, Guillermo finding it far too exhausting to always have to be looking out for himself. Their fingers were tipped with claws, their nose snout-like and filled with sharp feline teeth, and a tail flicked slowly behind them as they sat at the mouth of a cave.
Guillermo had found it a few weeks ago and decided it was as good a place as any to live, arranging what little belongings he had in a small, carefully constructed pile near where he slept. The scarf Rosemary had made for him was tied neatly around his neck, more or less the only article of clothing that had managed to stick around. The rest were left in tatters all around the surrounding forest, a few stragglers having made it into the leaf litter bedding they’d thrown together. The scarf, though, had been treated carefully. It still smelled slightly of home, a fact that the balam treasured in these quiet, desperate moments.
Their eyeless face was turned up toward the sky, ears twitching as they listened to the gentle sounds of little rodents moving around in the snow. Their body trembled, and they wished they would have learned how to build a fire. At least they had the scarf.
A new sound met their ears and the balam cocked her head, sucking in a quick breath and holding it, whiskers trembling. Even her tail had stilled as she tried to identify the source, the both of them taking note of how the fur on their spine started to rise.
__
Hunger gripped the creature like a vice. The only thing that drove it forward, the only thing that gave it purpose, was food. Heavy, bestial breathing filled the air around it as it charged ever forward in search of a meal. It wasn’t sure how it got here, only that it had started running and hadn’t looked back. It usually stuck with its pack, but there was something so instinctive in it that made it follow that tunnel of light. All it knew was its home; a world of ash and fire, of smoke and brimstone. It knew the power of demons and their thralls. It was a thrall, driven by hunger.
Running was what it did best; it’s what kept it alive for so long. There was a man under there somewhere, deep down in the muck that it called a brain. It didn’t know its name; it only knew what it needed: prey. The beast stopped for a moment, swiveling its head back and forth and listening. Waiting. It was, for the first time in over a decade, safe. Safety wasn’t something it knew how to contend with. It only knew survival.
It moved slowly now, taking in its surroundings for the first time. It didn’t smell like home, which was filled with sulfur and smoke. No, the air was clean here. Crisp. Cold. It was in some sort of forest, which was all dead, where it called its home. Here, they were sleeping, not dead. There were pine trees with their needles, not husks of trees where trees once stood. This was not home. No, this was somewhere entirely new.
Something deep inside the beast screamed to be let out, to touch the earth with his bare hands, to take fistfuls of dirt between his fingers and cry for the first time in god knew how many years. He wanted to scream on the top of his lungs in victory, knowing that at long last, he was free. But the beast took hold once again. It smelled something.
Food.
The beast’s instincts flared to life as it bared its razor-sharp teeth, an ominous snarl escaping from deep within. Prey. Hooves treaded loudly into the frozen decay of the forest floor, beginning to zero in on the smell and make its way toward the source. Hungry. For the first time in over a decade, it wouldn’t have to fight with others for mere scraps. For the first time, it would have its fill.
—
It was an unfamiliar noise. A clopping, thudding gait, sharp when it hit stone and muted as it stamped down into earth. The balam rose to their feet, smaller than they were as a full human but still with a similar silhouette. Their nose twitched, fur standing on end. A stink enveloped their senses, one they had smelled before, though not often. Fear started to roil around in their belly as they realized the creature, whatever it was, was getting closer. And quickly.
They backed up into their cave, scuttling away from the entrance while still facing it, their fangs bared in a hiss. The clopping stopped, and the smell was overpowering. It was the same scent that had drowned their senses the day their pack was attacked by the beasts from the deep deep down. They hissed again, then yowled threateningly. “Go away!” Their voice was strange, a mix between a human cry and the shriek of a cat. “This is my cave!!”
The fear was growing stronger, sending shivers up and down their spine. They wished in that moment that they had never run away. They wished they had stayed with Rosemary, where they could be curled up in front of a fireplace with her right now, listening to her tell them stories while they both sipped hot cocoa. Maybe there would have even been some fish!
Their breaths were quick and shallow, terror pressing them up against one of the rear walls of the cave. “Go away!”
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There was shouting now. Screams of terror were familiar music to the beast’s ears. Rounding the outcropping of rock, the beast let out a horrifying mix of laughter and snarling as it came face to face with who would make a wonderful meal. The fear made it all the sweeter of a meal, it found. The pure adrenaline and blood-curdled screaming that would come from this one would more than satisfy its craving.
For so long, it had shared its meals with others. For so long, it knew how to get what it could without getting in another’s way. But this time? This time it could take its time. It could toy with its food; enjoy the chase. Another hair-raising cackle emitted from the beast’s maw as it advanced into the cave.
Another whiff of fear hit the beast’s nostrils, and the game was on. How badly it wanted to sink its teeth into a fresh body and savor the meal. More often than not, it fed off of dead things. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and the beast knew a thing or two about taking what it could get. The sides of its face curled into a cruel smile as it let out another laugh, staring the creature down as it began to circle them. In the back of its mind, it felt something. Something it couldn’t quite place. Terror? No, that wasn’t right. That wasn’t what it knew. After this meal, it would rest before finding a way back. Then, it could go back to being an obedient thrall.
—
The balam hissed as the creature they couldn’t see drew closer, the laughter that spilled cruelly from its maw spurring their heart into a jackrabbit’s pace. Their fangs bared with every snarl, the shifter tried to look as threatening as they could, but they were unfortunately a far cry from being the deadliest thing in this cave.
As the monster advancing on them started to pace from side to side, the balam became aware of just how pinned down they were. Every exhale was a feverish hiss, a fruitless attempt to drive away the monster, and they knew their tactic was going to have to change.
They waited until the air shifted and the beast attacked, lunging right for them. Then they ducked, slithering out of range as they scrabbled for purchase on the wet stone, making a blind run for the cave’s exit. However, in their panic, they failed to account for the jagged outcropping of rock that was in their path – one they usually had to skirt carefully around, fingers tracing delicate lines along the rock face. Tonight, they smashed right into it, earning themself a nasty scrape along their flank and sending them tumbling to the ground.
The scream was a reflex, because they knew they had just doomed themself. They hurried to get back up, but it took only seconds for them to feel the agonizing bite of sharp teeth dragging them back to the cavern floor. The balam was a mess of claws and teeth, then, twisting around to face the creature who held them in its mouth, trying to get it to release them so they might race back to town, back to Rosemary and the safety of her presence.
—
As soon as the creature smashed itself into the rock, the beast began to laugh a cruel, loud and high-pitched laugh. It stalked its way closer to the strange looking thing before tearing into flesh. The sounds the creature it tore from was delicious; its struggles to escape only fueling the beast’s fire. It was so much more delicious when prey struggled.
Once they tasted blood and sinew, it was over. The beast’s laughter only grew until it engulfed the cave in its entirety, tearing and tearing and tearing. Hunger was all it knew, all it cared about satiating. Away from its true environment, from its pack, it knew nothing more than feeding itself before planning its next move.
It stopped tearing into the creature, stopped ripping muscle away from bone and burying its muzzle in the blood that poured out. Pulling back, it noted that the pitiful thing was still breathing, but only barely. Ragged, harsh breaths as it bled out. If it had any sort of conscience, it would put it out of its misery. But it didn’t. Instead, it moved back and watched. So often, they ate first and paid attention to its environment later. What was it like to watch its kill die before them?
A low, almost imperceptible pang of disgust and horror rocketed through the beast’s very being. Before it could recognize it for what it was, it was gone; buried beneath the waves that pushed its better sense under again. Instinct fueled the beast, and cruelty sustained it. It let out a soft, high-pitched laugh as it observed its prey, hackles raised as it waited.
—
Nothing they did was helping. Biting, scratching, yowling — the creature that had chosen them as its dinner was not giving up no matter how hard they struggled. In fact, it seemed to enjoy it, laughing around the flesh that gushed blood into its mouth.
Guillermo and Buttons were going to die, they realized in tandem.
Eventually, blood loss slowed them down. As it drained out of them onto the cold, unforgiving ground, all they could do was lay there. It didn’t really hurt anymore, which was a small blessing. Their breaths came in short, slow gasps, with long breaks in between. A hand slid up toward their head, gathering the fabric of the scarf Rosemary had made for them into a weak fist and pressing it over their snout.
There were hints of lavender Rosemary had been drying out from the garden, mixed with the scent of cinnamon and frankincense that always seemed to be present. He’d not known the name of any of these things until Rosemary had explained them to him. Cinnamon was his favorite. The balam inhaled as deeply as he could. He could smell coffee on it, too, and tea leaves. All little things that made her house a home; a familiar mix of smells that comforted him as his vision began to fade. Her perfume was the last note to hit him, one he’d gotten very familiar with from sitting beside her on the couch, tucked into her side, or hugging her tightly any time either of them went out or came home. It smelled a bit like apples.
He thought fondly of his roommate, and of all the people he’d met along the way who had been kind to him. Talia, Estella, Luc, and even Rory – even though he’d left her in a panic on that day in the woods, he still missed her. His thoughts ran around in circles as the rest of his good memories from his time above ground swelled in his chest, stifling the last of his breaths.
The last thing he heard before the world fell away was the barbarous cackle of that monster that had attacked him, and then he was gone.
__
Life was a precious thing. But life needed to be sustained. And to sustain life, the beast needed to eat. It watched intently as the lifeform breathed his last, then encroached into his space, taking that scarf into its bloodied maw and tearing it away. It dragged the body of its kill further into the cave, something solid clattering to the stone floor as it dragged. As soon as it was far enough from the entrance, it began tearing and devouring in earnest. Nothing was left of Guillermo when it was through, save for the massive amount of blood.
Satiated, the beast licked its chops before leisurely exploring the depths of the cave. The cave went onward and onward, deep enough that it came to an open-ceiling sanctuary, of sorts. Plants that didn’t belong in such a cold climate seemed to thrive here. It was warmer here. The beast looked around in wonder, finally giving itself the luxury of taking in its surroundings instead of running with its pack at a neckbreak speed.
Something was taking hold. The further it moved toward the center of the verdant oasis, the more tired it began to feel. Even the biting panic of water at its feet was numbed as something comforting and warm seized its form. The beast waded into the water and submerged itself, all the evidence of the crime it had committed washing away in the water as the beast shifted from that of the hellish thing that it was, to that of a man.
. . .
Amos didn’t remember much these days. Fragments of time escaped him, leaving a gaping hole where life he should have lived seemed to have vanished. Residual panic coursed through him, and the instinct to run out of the water he found himself submerged in took hold. He waded out of the water as quickly as he could, running a hand through his too-long hair to get the wet strands out of his face. The first thing he realized upon taking in his environment, was that this wasn’t where he’d last been. No, this wasn’t Hell at all. There was no persistent red atmosphere crushing him under its weight. No hiding from gargantuan beings that shouldn’t exist.
He looked up at the sky, and the stars that twinkled down at him almost moved the grizzled war vet to tears. Amos was free. Granted, he didn’t know where he was. After realizing he could get stuck in whatever hell he was in before, it could be possible he wasn’t on earth. Or at least, not the earth he knew. Nothing felt real. He’d counted the years he’d been stuck in Hell; he’d counted the rise of the moon. But he didn’t remember chunks of time, so his counting had become unreliable. He knew he was older, he’d caught glimpses of his reflection now and again in different surfaces. He was forty-two when he fell down that hole. Now? Now he needed to find a damn calendar and figure out when he was.
He glanced around for cover, realizing he was as naked as the day he was born. Unless he wanted to fashion a leaf skirt, he was shit outta luck in the clothing department. Amos sucked in a breath, then began walking through the cave’s winding tunnels. He froze in his steps when he came across a massive amount of blood. What happened here? Whatever had been hurt, it was there anymore. Amos frowned, a sinking feeling in his gut as he took a step forward, his foot hitting something. He looked down to see a phone, way more sophisticated looking then when he’d last see a phone. He picked it up and tried to turn it on with no luck. It was dead.
He sighed, but took another step, noticing a scarf on the ground. It had some blood on it, but not all was lost, and not torn in any places. Amos frowned, bunching up the knitted fabric in his hand before taking another step towards the cave entrance. Fuck, was it cold. Why did he have to find himself freed in the dead of fucking winter? There was snow on the ground and he was going to get frostbite in places it didn’t belong! He glanced around frantically before noticing strewn pieces of clothing scattering the forest floor. Fuck, maybe there was a god. He was quick to dart to the ill fitting shirt and pants, throwing them on. They didn’t fit at all, but they’d do the job.
Well. He was shoeless and clueless, but he had a phone and scarf of a murder victim. Or the murderer. The thought made Amos frown as he looked around for more clues. There were strange hoof prints in the snow leading up to the cave, but none leaving it. Dread pooled in Amos’s stomach. A hellhound had been here. He knew those hoof markings anywhere, he’d tracked them in the soot and ash of Hell when he tried to stay on the run hiding from a pack of them. This person had been taken or killed. Shit, he had to find the phone owner’s next of kin. They deserved to know what happened. Amos didn’t have much time to think about the hell he’d lived through. Don’t have time to sit down and cry over the lost chunks of time he’d never get back. He needed to take action, to keep fucking moving. Wallowing got him nowhere but at the end of a liquor bottle. Always a man of action, Amos picked a direction and started walking in it, determined to find a way out of the woods and to a main road. Once he hit a town, he’d figure out his next steps. But for now, he just had to pray he wouldn’t lose his bare feet to frostbite.
