by Scott Garriott
I come upon a familiar scene. New York, or an approximation that my mind can conjure. Leaves fall from the trees that surround me, their bones crunch underneath my boots. The air is crisp and clean, making itself known by the clouds that erupt from my lungs. A towering stone bridge lays above me, the stream that flows beneath it twists and writhes next to me. An iron gate, pointed fangs piercing the fall air keep me from jumping in. The babbling of the brook is interrupted by a different kind of babbling. A familiar gibbering coming from under the bridge, an aberration I know all too well.
As it steps into the shafts of morning light beaming through the birch and pine that surrounds us, it is clear now, that vile little creature. Round bulbous body, encased in pallid green, pockmarked skin, at the same time wrinkled and swollen, a putrid raisin given new life with fetid liquids. Bony appendages, bending at odd angles, snap and crack as it excitedly gesticulates its foul messages. Veined yellow orbs, crusted over, red hot pools sitting at their center staring at me with malicious intent. Flapping lips gibber giving glimpses of the needle like teeth puncture its vile gums.
My heart skips a beat as the twisting words from its gaping maw assail my senses. The preachings of a madman, a monstrous Rasputin pouring poison into my ears. No sane person would listen to these machinations, and yet, they make sense. The unholy sorcery of the creature is taking hold. Maybe it is all true. The black magic twists its way into my mind, changing me. The butterflies in my stomach die and the buzzing of flies that feast on their corpses fills my mind. Can’t think… Can’t… Anything. Vision swims, the bridge, trees, fence, brook, cascading into a milieu of colors and shapes. My neck wrenches at an agonizing angle, trying to snap itself to make the words stop. Hands ball into fists, nails leaving halfmoon lacerations in my palms. The incantation forges new pathways in my mind, cutting and slashing like an explorer through the jungle.
The monster giggles, it has done its foul deed and now it watches. I must escape this torment, must find something to leave me. I tell my feet to turn and run, wind whipping past my ears, trundling my bulk as fast as I can away from the fiend. I look back to see the distance that I have put between us, but no progress has been made. OK, just don’t think about it, find something else, look at the trees, what colors do you see? I stare at the stream flowing beside me. Can I jump in? Will I find solace in the icy waters? The monolithic sea at the terminus of the brook, its cool depths must hold some relief.
No. A bright flame of holy indignation arises. “It is you, your doing.” The monster looks around nervously. “You cannot keep getting away with this. You need to Fucking Die.” I approach the monster, fists balled into avenging mallets, ready to break, tear, bash this odious goblins brains out.
It gives a stunned yelp as my fist smashes into its nose with a satisfying crunch. Blood and mucus flow out of the obliquely angled mass that was its nose. It looks up at me with its crusted orbs, my next target. Grasping fingers probe deep into its socket. Squelch and pop and the eye is a deflated balloon, viscous gelly pouring down its miserable face. The creature puts a hand up to defend itself, I grab it in a friendly gesture of comradery, and then twist it up and bring the point of my elbow down on its forearm. The thin bones snap with no real resistance, their broken remnants now poking out of the scabrous skin. Two sharp bones seem like a fine weapon to use against this swine. The hand comes free from the remaining fascia that was holding it to the arm. A silent scream is uttered from the thing’s mouth but is cut short as the sharp wrist bones are jammed into its gaping mouth, stapling its wagging tongue to its lower jaw.
The pitiless creature, broken and mewling, tries to escape, but I have other plans. Grabbing its thin ankles I lift it above my head, slamming it into the top of the fence that stands beside us. A final yelp is uttered as the monster is impaled on the cruel spears at the apex of the corrugated iron fence. It slumps onto the metal, its form deflated by the spikes, leaking the rest of its vital juices onto the ground. I pull it from the fence and give one last regard to its cancerous form before it is chucked into the stream. Bobbing and twisting in the cool clear water, it floats toward the great waters beyond.
The nightmare is over. The spell is broken, the buzzing recedes, the thoughts lie dormant. I give the thing one quick glance as it reaches the stream’s resolution. One ruined eye can be seen above the waters, the edge of its mouth clearly visible. Perhaps a tick of the light, or some other kind of trick, a wry smirk and a wink from the creature. We both know that it will be back, it is only a matter of time.
Maybe next time I’ll try giving it a little kiss instead.
Scott Garriott is a writer and community organizer who lives in Oakland CA. His writing is often darkly satirical and often views the subjects through an anarchist-socialist lens. He is a lover of science fiction, fantasy, and horror. He is working towards becoming a high school English teacher in his hometown.