Smother
The grass is cold against my face.
I don’t move, it feels too good.
“Get up,” I hear the urgent voice of Quick at my left ear. I moan, my body aching from the stretch of running, my arms shaking from pushing the weight of a medium sized girl.
I know I should feel bad—it is a common reaction, to feel guilt—but I don’t.
I am numb.
No, I am worse than that.
I am excited.
I crawl from the ground, ignoring the whine of every muscle in my body. We are under a blanket of darkness, faint glimmering stars flash above us in a dull rhythm, the moon… full… hanging above us like a Christmas ornament.
“Do you want to lead the way? Or should I?” I ask, crossing my arms (not a show of insecurity, but instead a reaction to the cold nipping at my forearms) in front of my body, catching Quick’s glance.
“After you, boss” she snarls, dusting moist grass blades from her pants. I eye her shoes, suddenly realizing I am still without a pair. My feet are cold.
The grass itches my skin in an unbearable way as we walk towards the blackened entrance of what looks to be a very well groomed forest. The trees bloom of blood burgundy blossoms, and the twigs are a charcoal, brown mixture. Each trunk has carvings of what I would explain as finger nails dragging down to about knee height, like someone hung on for dear life, petrified of whatever tugged so desperately at their heels.
Quick is closer to me than I feel comfortable with, she is hiding in my shadow, practically jumping onto my back. She feels the eerie air attack her neck like I do… something isn’t right here, but yet, I refuse to ignore the devil on my shoulder.
Curiosity, it kills the cat. Unless the cat becomes the hunter and kills it first. Then, curiosity fueled the cat.
The forest on either side of us is so thick, you cannot see farther than two yards in the brush. The deeper we go, the darker it gets until I cannot even see Quick—I hear her in how loud she walks to the left of me like a bowling ball being rolled down dead leaves.
I hear a deafening cry for help. Quick grasps my arm in a panic, my body cringing from the pressure of her unclipped nails. Three seconds into our pause is when I realize I am holding my breath. I can practically hear the heartbeat of Quick and I, merging together into one loud drum, beckoning the shrill demon from beyond our sight to us like a calling mechanism.
“What wa-“
“Shut up,” I hiss more for my benefit than hers. If she were to die (which, I assume she will be the first of us to go), I would rather her go now. I would rather her be killed by some unknown daemonic creature, than myself do it.
I would have too much pleasure in it.
I wouldn’t know how, or where to stop.
A breeze lifts my cropped hair up from the top of my shoulders; I feel Quick huddle against me with her limbs shaking like a child on a rollercoaster for the first time. I am clenched as the sound of footsteps near our location.
Crisp, crisp
The sound of dead leaves crunching beneath the weight of some unknown source. It is so crystal clear.
A smell of something rotten wafts into my nose, I hear Quick choke on a cough. We are both paralyzed in what she would consider fear, but I consider inquisition. Something is nearing us, something is coming to say hello.
Or goodbye, if it plans to rip us limb from limb.
It is then, the slightest tug at my hand causes me to gasp. I wasn’t imagining anything. I felt that. Like someone grabbed my hand to guide me somewhere. Like a mother, being tugged by her child to the playground.
Quick shrieks and I dive to the ground in instant response as she slides two feet ahead before dropping to the floor. I glance at her, balancing on my palms and knees, I can only make out the shape of her frame.
She is whimpering like a dog scared of the vet.
“Shh,” I coon at her, again for my benefit, not for hers.
I can only picture her lip quivering like a vibrating phone.
I crawl ever so slightly toward her, the sound of dead leaves crumbling at my weight, a dead giveaway to whatever is playing invisible man. I feel her body heat emit onto mine, she is sweating in absolute fear.
My hands suddenly slip from underneath me, and on my stomach I glide painfully about fifty yards from Quick. I struggle and growl the entire time, attempting to force myself from the intense grasp around my wrists. My mouth lets out cries of frustration and pain as jagged leftover rocks and twigs pinch at my torso.
I stop moving, my stomach shuddering from its experience. I hear Quick crying for mercy, help, anything. I cannot see her, it is too dark. I narrow my eyes, resting my cold hands against what must be cuts and bruises, before I am slammed with the body weight of a female girl.
Quick.
Her elbow nails my jaw, I bite my lip and blood drips onto my taste buds like foul salt water after a swim in the sea. I shove her off, aggravated and annoyed, the pulsing of my tongue another distraction I am not entirely sure I need.
“Run,” is all I manage to spit out before rolling onto my stomach and lunging forward to my feet.
We are both flying down the trail now, making odd turns and anxious decisions. Every so often I swear I hear the laughter of a small, childish boy in the back of my head. I swear I hear him taunt us.
I don’t ask Quick if she hears it too.
We round a bend to the left when our trail comes to an end. It is brush so thick even a squirrel couldn’t get through. Quick attempts to push some bushes to clear a space, but her body jolts in a reaction.
“Thorns,” she pants, I can hear the desperation roll of her tongue.
The presence is still with us—whatever it is—I can feel it. I feel its pressure dig into my shoulder like punishment for finding a dead end. I know Quick feels it too; she is holding her breath again.
“Don’t get scared,” I tell, my fists clenched and my jaw firm. It is so dark here I can’t even make out her silhouette, but I know it is there. I can hear her breathing return, but it is fast and panicked. She isn’t good at acting.
Whatever it is, it is feeding off our energy.
I hear Quick shriek as she grabs me from my shoulder, pulling me upward. I even panic, my feet lifting from the ground as if floating was easy. I always wanted to fly, but I never wanted to be taunted.
We are the mice, and it is the cat.
They don’t kill their prey, they play with it.
“Please, please oh God please don’t hurt me, I will do anything. Oh my God-“ her voice is pathetic, wafting into the air with desperation and pity. She is begging for her life, now. She is reached an all time low. Rock bottom.
“Shut. The. Hell. Up,” I threaten with anger and belligerence. Quick will be the reason for my death, I know it.
We are suspended in the air for what seems like a lifetime, pressure around my stomach growing like an anaconda tightening its grasp around my waist. I am struggling to get airflow, I feel my face getting hot and tingly. I can feel Quick fighting along side me, desperate to get every breath, but knowing the more we panic the less time we have.
It won’t kill us, but we will wish we were dead.
We begin to move, around the maze in what I hope is the right direction. I hear Quick whimpering beside me like a lost puppy, consistently struggling despite our knowledge that the longer we fight, the tighter the pressure gets.
I don’t pay attention to where we are going yet, not until we begin to get lowered over a small pool of water that can only be considered a medium sized pond. I clench my entire body, feeling gravity pull at my hair and feeling the blood flow to my face as I am tilted to look down.
I see a shiny glow from beneath the water that for a second, makes me panic. And then I remember whatever is lurking beneath the glossy surface will attack me no matter what; I am being suspended like a chicken above a tiger’s cage.
Come and get it.
Dinner’s ready.
Quick is the first to shriek as she suddenly falls into the water with a large splash. Shards of water smack me in the face from the blow, the temperature so cold my skin practically freezes upon impact.
She surfaces, her red hair in giant knots and her arms quivering at her side as she attempts to swim the shore. I can hear her teeth chattering.
And then I am dropped.
The water eats me like a fat kid eating chocolate, my body instantly engulfed in the chilled pond. I feel numb, paralyzed, as I attempt to float myself to the top.
Something bumps at my legs.
It is too dark to make out anything.
Another bump. My body rotates slowly, as if I am on an electronic pedestal, in a full three sixty.
My stomach flips as I feel a heavy gush of water brush me sideways, my lungs beginning to swell from the length of held my breath. Each second I spend trying to prod the creature of the deep, is another second I risk drowning.
I begin to panic.
I am not prioritizing properly.
I frantically swim up, through for some reason it feels something is desperately dragging me down. The water breaks at my arrival, ripples forming around me as I gasp desperately for some sort of oxygen.
Pressure wraps around my ankles.
I am submerged once more.
This time, I feel I am watched. I feel as though something is watching me frantically spin beneath the water in what feels like slow motion.
I am attempting to spin in a substance made of molasses.
I feel a rush of hot water wrap around my skin and then—a second too late—I realize I am within the mouth of some creature.
A hazy green glow shimmers around me.
That thing.
I begin to panic, the mouth large enough for me to practically host a picnic. My hands firmly pounding on every surface regardless of how dark it is. I cannot see what I am hitting, I cannot see where up is and where down is.
I begin to feel dizzy and confused.
My lungs are pounding; they feel carbon dioxide running the show, with oxygen slowly leaving the room. I am desperate now. I can watch everyone else die, but I can’t die.
I am banging harder.
And then something—I don’t know, fairy fucking dust or the wizard of oz—something happens.
I can’t explain it.
A sudden pressure blows within my body and I open my mouth in a shrill cry, water instantly absorbing into the hole. I cough and sputter and drown all at once. A bright light shimmers from every pore of my skin, I grasp my neck—it all came so fast.
I will be seeing my father in hell, I suppose.
And then, like the devil has bigger plans for me, I begin to float upwards. The mouth of whatever indulged me beneath my body. The guidance of my pores lead the way. I feel tingly—broken, even. Each and every inch of me beginning to throb and moan.
I surface.
I sound like a sputtering mess, snot and saliva running down my face and out from my mouth like a newborn child. I paddle to the shore, still an ignorant pore-lamp illuminating my pathway.
I hit the shore and instantly another cry comes from my mouth—I am embarrassed by all my weaknesses—before all my limbs begin cramping. From the tips of my toes upwards to my pelvis. From my fingernails to my collarbone—it all enters an agonizing stage of pain that feels equivalent to giving birth to eight children all at once.
And then my face—oh my god my face—it throbs like someone has just brutally beaten it. And my teeth ache like cavities and root canals have sprouted left right and center. All at once.
I would rather be tortured.
I feel my body adjusting and remolding into something I am not entirely sure of. My hands have thick amounts of hair blossoming at the top, with sharp claw-like fingernails (comparable to daggers). My tongue glides along what aren’t pearly white teeth, but instead carnivorous canines; a predator’s pallet.
Quick is looking at me—petrified.
I am staring at her, suddenly hungry.
“Do-D-Don’t do this” she is choking on her own words, holding her hands up in defense, in desperation.
I lick my lips, and take a step forward, my strong sturdy legs so much more useful than the tiny sprouts I wore before.
“It’s already done.”
I lunge at her before she has a chance to crawl away. My teeth sinking into her pale flesh like a fork into cheesecake. She lets out a scream so loud that my ears flail backwards in annoyance. It is a piercing nose of the most off tune flute playing the most dreadful high note.
She is easy to devour. Her blood soaks into the fur surrounding my face like sephora foundation, words cannot describe how effortless her fat tears. Each time I hit a bone, she moans in pain. Shock has succumbed her, she has accepted her fate.
It doesn’t take long for her to go limb within my grasp, but when she begins to fade I make a point of staring her in the face. I make a point of watching each light in her mind blacken. Her eyes begin to dull like turning off street lamps in the early morning. One by one.
Her eyes roll to the back of her head. Her head tilts sideways, the last bit of air escaping her chest.
It wasn’t as much fun eating her as it was watching her die.
I don’t know how long I feed of her delicate pale carcass, but I feel as though while the sun rises I must continue forward. Am I like a vampire and turn to dust at the crack of dawn?
I would rather not find out.
I trot out (do canines trot?) with a feeling of satisfaction. It was easier done than said, contrary to what most people believe. I would much rather kill someone than talk about killing someone. Why? Because no one gives you insane looks when you just get the job done.
No one judges you.
I feel torn on if I should go on all fours, or carry myself on two. As I continue to advance in speeds, my body naturally changes posture to carry me farther at a more accommodating speed.
And I thought this maze was difficult.
I keep passing things that appear almost like gates, but not entirely so. They are blatant entrances with no doors, but when I move through them a heavy presence folds at my back and the temperature changes just a miniscule amount. I cannot help but put two and two together that whatever was playing cat and mouse with Quick and I, it was meant to stay within its district.
It makes me wonder what I have entered.
What I have avoided by travelling fast.
I feel I am nearing the end and slow to a walk, when the distant sound of a twig breaking. My eyes (as a canine I have much better sight in the cover of blackness) adjust to the thick tree line and focus heavily on the source of the noise.
Shifts of trees cause the hairs of my back to spike up. I lower to all four, a crouched position with my back arched; a growl rumbles between my teeth and my cheeks vibrate from the ferocity.
Through the brush emerges something I have no words to describe. The head is like a rhino, with a large horn emerging from its snout and black beady eyes narrowing at my presence. Its entire upper body is coated with extra skin like armor, shielding itself with protection. It’s nose glows green, its teeth are exterior, fanged and hanging like daggers. As it moves towards me, I realize its entire frame is similar to the world’s largest python. No legs, just layers upon layers of skin.
I have no chance to fight this animal.
Is it even an animal?
I feel paralyzed with fear at its presence. At first, I feel like I myself have chosen to stand. And then I realize that when I try to move, I physically cannot. I am cemented into the ground like a statue.
A thick amount of steam coils over me from its mouth—the smell vile and potent, making me wheezy and dizzy. I don’t move, I can’t move.
I just drift off like sleeping beauty after touching the tip of a spinning wheel.
….
I awake to the sound of a shrill cry—Quick.
No, I killed her.
I go to move, but I cannot. I am stuck. I am sprawled on my back with my limbs outstretched in every angle. My body paralyzed still.
I see the faint glow of the forest monster watching me with an appeased look on its face.
At first, his voice comes to me like a bugle horn. I am alarmed to hear him so clearly—his voice a deep masculine tone, he is threatening me. He is kicking me out.
And I hear her, I hear her talking about how much of a failure I am.
And I here my half brother, bragging about himself and how much of a waste of skin I am.
They are all standing above me, grays and blue eyes and dark chocolate, all of them laughing at me. I cannot move.
“Why did we ever conceive.”
“She deserves to die.”
“She is a waste of air.”
“Thank God she will finally leave.”
They are cackling at me like witches on brooms, taunting me just beyond my reach. I am crying, screaming, howling—no, stop, go away.
Leave me alone.
I am not meant to be here.
They go on for a long time, they don’t stop. Familiar faces of let downs and double crossers—they are all here. Family, old friends, the ones I promised I would never see again. Here they are, toying with me.
Guess the cat finally found its mouse again.
It takes hours, hours of me begging and screaming let me go that finally the poltergeist releases me from my state.
I rise with a wobble.
Broken, a little bit mad.
Mad as in crazy, not anger.
The python-thing is watching me, entertained. I see it snickering, something to that extent…. I don’t know what to make of anything.
I feel like I just hallucinated the biggest nightmare of my life.
But I didn’t. It was real. The maze of demons finally found my weakness. I am not scared of water, of choking, of drowning, of monsters—no, my biggest fear is seeing my family again.
They broke me, their goal was to break me and they did it.
I was right when I had reached the end of the maze. Resting against the wall of the maze sits a vial, a pretty crystal vial with an illuminating serum beckoning my call.
The salty blood still lingers on my teeth.
I need it.
I am wobbling—like a drunkard after a pathetic night at the pub—and my bottom lip is quivering. I just keep hearing them over and over again, failure, die,.
My entire body feels stuck, squished—the poltergeist’s aren’t doing this. No, it is the feeling of incredibly fear that causes this.
My hands, hairy, wrap around the vial as I kneel down. Tears escape down my face and I am whimpering like a child. Cold, thirsty, scared. Alone.
The serum moistens my mouth—like iced tea by the pool, it soothes me.
The transformation doesn’t go any easier, but I am too exhausted to struggle. The incredible pain once more forms up my back and into my limbs. My teeth chatter from the change and my body cramps and seizes in ways I pray I never feel again.
By the time the transformation is over I am lying on dew covered grass, the sun just beginning to rise, a shivering mess.
I feel violated, I feel tricked.
But I sit up, brushing the sticky grass of my pants like déjà vu , and exhale a very large breath.
You’re a big girl, Smother.
