Creation: Science Fiction Short Stories

Monster in the Dark

WARNING: This first story contains graphic depictions of death.

A quiet wind tainted with the smell of decay swept through the cold, dark ravine. John shivered as he struck the flint, sending sparks flying onto the pieces of tinder tucked neatly into the pile of timber in the shallow indent he had dug into the ground. A few sparks caught and the tinder curled into itself, smoke and flames emanating from the newly lit fire. It seemed to warm the ravine, giving the dark stone wild shadows and soft light. "That's a little better," he mutters to himself, the heat from the fire making his skin feel crisp and dry, but warm.

Milla laughed quietly, "Just what this damp place needed."

John rocked back on his heels and his rump landed in the dusty ground of the ravine next to Milla. Keith, across the fire pit from Milla and John wiggled his arms out of his heavy sweater and into the sleeves to warm his hands with the fire. He sighed with relief, "Took you long enough to make it. My fingers almost froze off."

John just rolled his eyes, a grin tugging at his lips. Classic. He thought to himself. Footsteps begin to echo from somewhere in the ravine, coming their way. Keith's head shot up, and draws his knife. Milla scrambled to her feet, her heavy rifle in her hands before she was all the way up. John just drew his small hand pistol and aimed it in the direction of the footsteps. A pair of faces, one lit a bronze color by the fire while her companion gleamed pale and chocolate at the same time. "Relax!" Chroma raised her hands, clutching the feet of two rabbits, one with four open eyes, and the other had an unnecessary third foreleg, "It's just us!"

Chroma's tall companion silently raised a hand holding a string of quails. Each one of them in varying states of weirdness. "We brought dinner."

A pair of pale blue, saucer-wide eyes alight with the bright violence of the fire, three feet above Ann's head, locked with John's for a moment, but when he blinked they were gone. Must've been a trick of the lights, he had been staring at the fire for too long.

The fire had died down to glowing embers, the red heat still dancing amongst the ashes. A tin bucket that now held the faint odor of meat and pepper sat next to the dying fire, scraped clean of what contents it once held. "Another excellent meal," John declared, "compliments to the chef!"

A smile ghosted Keith's face, and he ducked his head to hide his pleasure, soft blonde hair fell in front of his eyes, "Rabbits are easy to cook with."

"They always taste wonderful, Keith." Ann said firmly.

"Hey, they're easy to hunt too!" Chroma yelped, "I was the one to catch them."

Ann looked down at her smaller companion, "I snared more quail than you."

"You guys need to be quieter!" Milla hissed, and everyone fell silent. She was right. It's hard sometimes, to remember where you're living. What's around you.

Everyone looked at Milla, and her green eyes flashed, and a frown creased her face. "What? You guys know I'm right," she said haltingly, and crossed her arms across her chest, and became a dark ball of sorts.

"Yeah, yeah," Chroma snorted, waving a hand, blotched with patches of light and dark skin barely discernible in the dying firelight, in dismissal, "we know. Milla is ALWAYS right."

Milla's scowl deepened and she put her head into her arms, and her hair flopped around like a big, dark, fluffy tumbleweed. Ann looked down at her small companion, "That wasn't nice. She's trying to protect us."

Once again, above Ann's head, John saw the eyes again. Milky blue, and bloodshot, like the owner of the pair of eyes hasn't slept in weeks. The pupils were far too small for such dark conditions. They stared at him with an intensity that made the rabbit-and-quail stew in his stomach roil and twist, and his hand strayed to his pistol that lay in his lap. Ann caught it out of the corner of her eye and she looked over at him, dark brown eyes widen with worry, "John?" The shadows play across her high cheekbones and give Ann surreal contour... like a skull.