The voice froze Jacob in place, even as he heard Dr. Grayson and Brenda stumbling up behind him, panting heavily. A lone figure stood on the porch, lined by the light streaming through the open front door.
“No time! Something’s coming! We’re in danger!” Jacob called out, finding he had no idea what to call the shadow-figure.
“It’s killed more than one of our group,” Dr. Grayson added, huffing laboriously, as he drew up alongside Jacob.
“I said … ” the man began before stopping, his eyes staring past Jacob and the others.
Jacob looked back, and saw a silvery mist flowing across the ground. It was moving far too rapidly to be of natural origin.
Opening the gate, Jacob ran forward, followed by Brenda and the professor. The older man stood in place, staring towards the mist. The others shoved him back into the house, as they piled inside and shut the door behind them.
“What in the name of God are you doing!” the man yelled.
“It’s coming after us!” Jacob said.
“Not a damn thing!” Brenda said anxiously, looking at her mobile device.
“What’s coming?” the old man asked.
“Don’t know what to call it! Came out of a burial mound we found in the bog land,” Jacob said.
“I saw it,” Dr. Grayson added. “Wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t see it myself.”
“Do you have a gun?” Jacob inquired.
“No, I don’t!” the old man said sourly.
“What do we do now?” Brenda asked.
Before the man answered, the room was permeated with a horrible aroma, as the glowing mist began wafting underneath the front door. The thing from the mound formed right before their eyes, its head almost brushing the ceiling.
“Through the back door,” the old man shouted, his eyes wide as he beheld the monstrosity in his home. “Make for the village!”
“What about your car?” Brenda inquired, as they hurried through to the back of the house.
“Don’t have one,” he retorted sharply.
-----
Outside, they hurried towards the village, nothing more than a few small houses huddled along a narrow lane. Not surprisingly, most of the houses did not open their doors at the late night hour; save for one.
A surly-looking man and his teenage son joined them. Alfred spoke with the man quickly about the situation; both father and son had stern expressions etched upon their faces. The father sent the son inside to retrieve a wood-cutting axe, then turned back towards Alfred.
“Seems crazy, but I know you are no fool, Alfred,” the father said. When the youth emerged, axe in hand, he asked. “So what’s the plan?”
“To the rooftop,” Alfred said. “Better to defend, and we can see what’s happening. Bastard can’t surprise us so easy.”
With no disagreement from the others, the group used a couple of large crates to help reach the roof. Dr. Grayson needed a little extra assistance, but in a few moments they all had a high vantage.
“Keep your eyes out,” Alfred muttered through clenched jaws, his eyes iron-hard as he looked outward.
“There! Look!” Brenda said, pointing.
The sentient mist had reached the village, and was entering one of the houses that had kept its door shut. Dread gripped Jacob as he watched. It was not long before screams came from inside the house.
A woman stumbled out the front of the house a few moments later, her eyes darting about frantically. She was in a sleeping gown, having been awoken from her dreams into a living nightmare.
Without warning, Brenda scrambled to the edge of the roof, and jumped down to the ground. Jacob started to go after her, when he felt himself yanked backwards by a firm hand on his shoulder.
Turning his head, he found himself eye to eye with Alfred, as the other’s hard gaze lanced into him. He snapped, “Don’t be a fool!”
“I’ve got to help her!” Jacob shot back.
“Look now!” Alfred told him.
Brenda had reached the woman, and was helping her towards the house that the others were atop. There was nothing Jacob could do if he got down. He watched in horror as the shadow-being lumbered into sight, from the front of the house the mist had entered. It stopped in its tracks, and oriented towards the two women, striding towards them a moment later.
Looking towards Brenda, he saw her reach the house they had climbed onto, with the woman at her side. Stooping down, she locked her palms together, fingers interlaced to form a bracing stirrup to help the woman to the edge of the roof.
“I can help from here,” Jacob said, tearing himself away from Alfred’s grip, seeing the middle-aged woman’s fruitless struggle to pull herself up despite Brenda’s help.
Working his way to the roof’s edge, he extended his hand, grabbing the woman’s and pulling as Brenda thrust up from below. The woman was able to get her torso up and over. Jacob grabbed onto her with both hands, and heaved as hard as he could. He felt a burst of momentum, and a quick glance told him Dr. Grayson had moved in to assist.
Once the woman was safe, Jacob quickly leaned back over the edge to where Brenda was trying to reach the roof herself. Everything in him quailed as he clasped her hand, seeing desiccated limbs reach in — dirt-caked hands with extended, claw-like fingernails seizing her ankles. She was pulled to the ground hard, torn from Jacob’s grasp and screaming at the top of her lungs.
Jacob had to rip his eyes away from the butchery, as the shadow-being maimed her and began drinking from her torn throat. He crawled away from the roof edge, wiping at his eyes as the waters of sorrow and frustration overflowed, streaming down his cheeks.
“Lad, I’m sorry,” Alfred interjected firmly. “But you must keep your wits. Don’t think we’re out of this, but I have an idea on how to get the bastard.”
“Tell me what I need to do,” Jacob growled through his tears, a potent rage welling up. “That thing’s not gonna stop until we’re all dead.”
“Bait the big bastard in, keep him physical, not mist. Maybe we can bring this to a close,” Alfred declared.
Jacob nodded, grimly stating, “Just tell me how.”
“Slip down the back, come around, and bring him back there,” Alfred said, indicating the small fenced-in garden plot. “We’ll do the rest.”
“What about morning, if that thing’s not natural, I … ” Jacob began.
Alfred interrupted, “There!”
Following the older man’s gesture, Jacob saw the living nightmare reaching over the top of the roof. It seemed to be having difficulty trying to climb.
“Coming to claim the last few breathing,” Dr. Grayson remarked solemnly.
“Now or never, it’ll go back to mist soon. You are the fastest left, lad. Think you can get the bastard to the garden in back?” Alfred asked. “Get him there, keep his attention, I’ll do my best.”
“Not encouraging, but there’s no better plan,” Jacob responded curtly.
He scrambled down the back of the roof, and quickly took account of the garden area. Surrounded by a high privacy fence made of wooden planks, it was accessed by a small gate on the right side of the house. Unsure whether it was locked or not, Jacob braced at the roof’s edge, turned, and dropped to the ground.
He hurried over to the gate, and saw it was locked from the inside. Lifting the latch, he swung the gate open, and strode out.
He fixed his eyes upon the huge, ghoulish figure out front, which was still occupied with trying to get to the roof. On the ground level, Jacob was reminded how massive the monster was. For a moment his courage wavered, and he thought about racing back through the gate and locking it.
Steeling his nerves, he reminded himself that no gate could stop a being that could turn into mist. It had to be fooled, and Jacob had to trust that the older man had a viable solution.
“Hey! Want to get me? You won’t have to climb!” Jacob yelled.
The shadow-being stopped, and turned towards him. Jacob edged backward, his breath quickening, c
alling upon all reserves of willpower to keep from running. Stepping carefully, he backed into the enclosure, keeping his eyes trained rigidly on the figure. His heart froze as it moved in his direction, its lengthy strides closing the gap swiftly.
Once he was in the middle of the backyard, Jacob waited. The creature passed through the gateway and tromped forward.
Jacob squared himself towards the hideous entity, though his body trembled. The creature’s back was to the house, and out of the corner of his eye, Jacob could see Alfred inching down to the lip of the roof.
Jacob kept his feet planted, his heart about to burst through his chest. Every part of him screamed to run. A wave of putrescent odor engulfed him, a moment before the being loomed over him, causing him to choke as the entity grabbed for him.
The creature lifted him effortlessly, leaving his shoes dangling a couple of feet off the ground. His pants became soaked as his bladder emptied, pissing himself in his terror. The unholy gaze of the entity held him riveted in place, as Jacob stared into the abyss within the creature’s eye sockets. Set deeply within were small points of red, glowing light, a spectral hint of hell itself.
The distinctive, rattling hiss sounded through a mouth missing its upper and lower lip, exposing blood-soaked, blacked teeth, unnaturally long. Jacob knew he was helpless to do anything, and all hope fled as he stared into the deathly countenance. He felt himself being brought in closer to the entity, as it leaned forward and opened its maw wide, to quench itself on his blood.
Jacob did not see the axe blade severing the neck of the entity, until the creature’s head toppled free from its body. He was held suspended in the air for a moment longer, until he fell heavily to the ground. He cried out as he landed awkwardly, spraining his ankle.
It took him a few moments to realize the entity was no longer a threat, and that he had been freed. He saw Dr. Grayson and the others getting down from the roof, as he took in the welcome sight of Alfred, who had wielded the axe that decapitated the creature.
“Not saying it’s over yet. Going to make damn sure,” Alfred muttered, as he began hacking at the stinking corpse. Severing limbs one by one, the old man chopped the creature apart. Alfred yelled over his shoulder, “Get a fire going, now! Right here!”
The father and son who had joined them set about gathering scraps of wood as Dr. Grayson went to Jacob’s side. The middle-aged woman that Brenda sacrificed her life for hung back from the others, eyes still wide and gleaming with fright.
“You did a great thing, Jacob. You saved us,” Dr. Grayson commended, in a low voice. “We wouldn’t have made it, if you hadn’t occupied its attention. I know that.”
Jacob winced from the pain in his ankle, as he looked to the professor. He said nothing in reply.
A small bonfire was soon blazing within the garden plot. Alfred and the two village men tossed pieces of the creature into the flames, until every last part of the entity was being consumed in fire.
Not a word was spoken among the group as Jacob stared deep into the flames. He felt numb to the core, drained of energy and emotion.
He was still in the same position when dawn’s first light fell upon the village, as the horizon lightened to the east. A melancholic silence reigned over the area. Nobody in the group had said a word, all wrestling with what they had seen and been through.
“And so the dawn rises, once more,” Alfred stated, closing his eyes, and loosing a sigh that conveyed the weight of many generations.
SKRAELING
Joel A. Sutherland
Joel A. Sutherland is the Bram Stoker Award nominated author of Frozen Blood and Be a Writing Superstar, a creative writing guide for children published by Scholastic. His short fiction has appeared in many anthologies and magazines, including Blood Lite II & III and Cemetery Dance Magazine. He has a Masters of Information and Library Studies from Aberystwyth University in Wales and works in a public library near his home east of Toronto. Sutherland also appeared as ‘The Barbarian Librarian’ on the first season of the Canadian edition of the hit reality show Wipeout.
He has yet to meet a vampire without a single redeeming characteristic, but some of his favourites can be found in Salem’s Lot, 30 Days of Night and I Am Legend. He’ll also admit (in the right company) to enjoying watching True Blood with his wife.
–––––––––––
A speck.
Nothing more than a pinpoint of black on a sheet of pure, brilliant white. Like a star in reverse. Like the smallest pupil surrounded by the largest eye.
Just a speck.
But it’s enough to set my pulse racing. Enough to clutch my heart within an iron hand and squeeze my lungs so every breath is pain. Enough to make me contemplate abandoning my task and turning around.
It’s only a second or two before I shake the thought and carry on. I can’t head back now – I know that. But it’s tempting. Oh, so tempting.
Because that speck of black, although small, is far, far away. Must be ten or fifteen miles, I reckon, across snow-covered ice on the empty horizon. And if I can see it from this distance, it’s big. Much bigger than an elk, moose – hell, even bigger than a damn polar bear.
And I know it can only bring one of two things.
Life.
Or death.
-----
I hope for life but plan for death.
My gloved fingers dance over my body in a well-rehearsed pattern like a horny teenage boy getting frisky with a girl under a sleeping bag. But my motions are much more practical than anything hormone driven. I finger the guthook hunting knife, twelve inches, at my waist. The scaling knife, eight inches, sticking out of my right boot. And the micro dagger, three point five inches, strapped to my left wrist. Check, check and check.
Next, my fingers snake over my shoulder and grip the crossbow strapped to my back. With a quick, strong pull it slides out of its holster and into my hands. It feels so right there, its weight reassuring. I always keep an arrow preloaded but I check it anyway. My remaining six arrows are always kept in a quiver on my left side but I check them anyway, too. Safety, safety, safety – three rules that have kept me alive so long in this frozen, skraeling-infested world.
I return the crossbow to its holster and drop my hands back down to my sides, but I know their idleness will be short-lived. I’m too jittery, too anxious, and my hands will restart their silent checklist of my weapons in a few minutes.
I keep walking, never stop.
My boots drag through snow drifts and glide over ice where the wind, howling and bitter, has exposed it.
The speck grows larger, large enough to turn into something more than a black dot.
It’s a ship.
My fingers caress my knives, my crossbow, my arrows.
I keep walking.
Never stop.
-----
One hundred paces from the ship, I stop.
It’s the biggest thing I’ve ever seen. In a few of the books that we had managed to find – before we had to abandon them – I’d read about buildings called skyscrapers – structures so tall they could kiss angels. The ship looks as big as I imagined skyscrapers to be, if one had fallen on its side. It’s lined with hundreds of windows and big blue letters that say DISNEY ALASKA CRUISE. I recognize the letters, of course, but the words are foreign to me.
Time has passed. I don’t know how much. That’s bad, dangerous.
The ship is frozen in place, big jagged shards of ice surrounding it like a ring of mangled teeth.
I sprint to the side of the ship and take a quick moment to catch my breath and my thoughts. Not only was it bad and dangerous to lose myself in thought so long, but stupid, too. Other than my wits and my weapons, all I have on my side is the element of surprise. If there were humans or skraelings on the ship, there’s a better chance they now know I’m here. And if there are humans or skraelings on the ship and they now know I’m here, not only is my mission to gather supplies at risk, so is my life.
Leader
would say that’s not just stupid, that’s suicidal.
I resist the temptation to board the ship immediately to forage for supplies – Leader would kill me himself if he learned I did that – and begin a perimeter search. I crouch low under the windows and slip silently over the ice, making my way north to the prow where I’ll double back on the other side.
There are long gouges in the ship’s hull, strips of metal peeled away and left to dangle in the air. A closer look reveals similar gouges in the ice’s surface. These ominous marks, coupled with the lack of bodies, make it clear what happened here.
Skraelings.
The only question that remains is whether or not they’ve left, or if they’re still here.
I lose my footing and slip on a patch of ice. A momentary lapse and a small mistake – my second of the day – but in this world there’s little difference between “momentary” and “small” and “prolonged” and “large”. I fall forward and hit the ship, getting my hands up to soften the blow just before impact. It saves me from hurting myself, but a hollow metal trilling sound reverberates through the silent afternoon. It would’ve been enough to hear anywhere in the ship.
If there are still skraelings inside, I’ll be dead within ten minutes.
Unless I can get in, grab anything I can get my hands on and get out in five.
Abandoning caution in favour of haste, I sprint the rest of the way around the ship. Just before I reach the location where I began, a bright spot in the ice catches my eye and I stop, turn around, drop to my knees and peer down below the surface. There’s something buried in the ice.
It’s roughly 4” by 7”. It’s covered in writing. And other than food or medicine or weapons, it’s the most valuable item I could’ve hoped to find.
It’s a book.
-----
Part of the title is obscured due to the angle the book is frozen in the ice, but I can read
–lso Rises
and, below that,
–mingway.
My heart races – it’s English.
Nothing else matters at the moment.
All I care about is getting the book.