Authors: Kyle Warner
G
ot
a problem here.
I found David.
It was the smell that woke me. Didn’t mean to dose off, but
I was tired, so there it is. When I woke, I found I wasn’t alone on the sand.
They left David’s guts on the beach. Crabs came from the
surf to pick through it, dragging coils of intestines into the water, while the
birds dined on his stomach.
Flies tiptoed around the claws and beaks to do their own
nasty business. There must have been a hundred flies, I think. Soon they’d lay
eggs within David’s innards to strengthen their numbers.
I stand and kick sand over the gore, scattering the living
creatures.
The birds squawk as they flee back to the trees, then
everything gets quiet again, just the sound of the rolling waves.
I stare upwards, watching the birds with bloody beaks stare
back at me.
A twig snaps somewhere in the jungle.
Sword drawn, I spin to face the thing that left me such a
wonderful gift while I slept.
… But nothing’s there.
“Come out!” I cry.
Only the birds reply, squawking like hecklers in a crowd.
The sun has not breached the horizon and the jungle is dark.
The space between green foliage seems impossibly black, like a quicksand made
from shadow and hunger. If I step into the jungle now I may never emerge again.
More twigs snapping, then movement.
I tense with my sword ready and my hand not far from the
pistol.
Something flies from the shadows—too fast—and hits me in the
chest.
Weakened from thirst, the blow is enough to knock me off my
feet. I scramble to regain my composure and confront my attacker.
I find myself staring into David’s eyes.
His head rests in the sand where I had stood. The skull was
raggedly severed beneath the chin. His eyes are wide with a frozen fear. His mouth
hangs ajar and I can see his tongue is missing.
I cry out. Don’t know why. It’s savage and horrible and I
can’t stop from shaking. I kick the sand and swing my sword angrily at the
dark. If any other man had seen me, he’d have thought me mad, but my outburst
seems completely justifiable in my mind.
I stab the sword into the sand and draw my pistol, shouting,
“Show yourself!”
The jungle refuses to respond and even the birds are silent.
Had enough of this. The identity of whatever haunts me does
not matter. It killed David. I didn’t even like David, but I have decided to
take his murder personally.
I grab my sword and step bravely through the leaves,
abandoning the safety of the beach.
Darkness envelops me. It’s like a blanket of frost, chilling
my spine, making me fearful and anxious. The sword feels both too short and too
heavy, an unwieldy weapon for a man lost in the dark.
Twigs keep snapping. I have to stop my advance often just to
see if it is
my
footfalls that are making the sound.
I put my back up against a wide tree and listen to the wind
caressing the branches.
It’s then that I notice that, for the first time, the birds
have not followed me. They remain back at the beach, too fearful to enter the
jungle after dark.
I have made a horrible mistake.
The foliage behind me moves against the wind and I know I
have been cut off from the beach. I’m not alone…
So I run.
The sword is heavy and it clangs on trees that I pass. I
swing it hard, embedding it in a tree’s bark, and abandon it.
I dodge trees, branches, and vines, remembering the way to
the hill.
The hill had a hole of its own, I know, but only one. In the
jungle I am surrounded by holes. I have to take my chances as I rush to get out
of the trees.
The world spins out of control as I trip and fall forward,
hitting my jaw hard on a rock. I spend a stupid moment checking for loose teeth
before I realize how exposed I am.
My left foot hangs precariously over the blackness of a hole
in the jungle floor.
Something in the deep dark is moving, growling, reaching up
towards me.
I pull my foot clear from the hole and pick myself up. The
flintlock pistol shakes in my hand as I run for the hill.
I break the tree line and hit the dirt that leads up the steep
incline.
Behind me the jungle is alive with activity and I know the
thing—
things?
—are close.
I scramble up the hill, breaking off fingernails on the rock
and dirt in a mad dash to ascend.
But finally I reach the top and I feel safe, if only for a
moment. With the gun aimed at the hole atop the mound, I stare back down the
hill.
The holes are everywhere and shadows appear and disappear
out of them in a flurry of motion.
One shadow stops before going down a hole. It turns towards
me and the moonlight manages to catch it just so.
Walking on all fours, the thing is covered in patchy white
hair and brown freckles. Its eyes glint in the moon’s glow and its jaws open
wide, revealing long, jagged teeth.
It’s a monster.
The thing growls, then disappears down a hole and the entire
jungle’s activity seems to stop all at once.
I dig up a word from deep inside. Didn’t know what it meant
then and maybe I still don’t, but the word hits the target in my brain and I
think it describes what I’m looking at pretty well.
“Rakasa.”
T
here
must be hundreds of the goddamn things. They killed what’s-his-name and they
mean to kill me. Well, fuck that, I got other plans.
The sword is stuck into the side of a tree and there’s no
getting it back without braving the jungle. The jungle is their territory, the
birds have taught me that much. Short of going down one of them holes, stepping
foot into the jungle is just about the worst thing I could do at this point.
Still have my pistol—only one shot, but it’s something.
My plan’s simple: kill the biggest fucking Rakasa creature I
can find and teach the others a thing or two about who’s the boss around these
parts.
If that doesn’t work, I’ll get back in that lifeboat and
take my chances with the waves and sharks. I’d take a shark over these things
any day, because a shark’s just a hungry animal.
These
things
aren’t animals, not really. I know that
somehow. They’re monsters through and through. A shark can’t help being ugly
and scary but these things seem to take pride in that fact.
It’s the way that one stood there and looked up at me, like
he knew that if I wasn’t dehydrated then I’d be pissing my pants.
Proud son-of-a-bitch-monster must
die.
I want to call them Rakasa because it’s better than calling
them monsters.
Monsters are for children afraid of shadows. Monsters are for
unintelligent types who prefer to believe in superstition instead of basic
human cruelty. Monsters are for stupid sailors who want to think that something
hideous lurks beneath the waves, as compared to facing their own ineptitude in
the company of Lady Death and her kissing cousin Fear.
Monsters aren’t real.
But the Rakasa sure as hell are.
The sun is rising. I look for jagged rocks on the hill.
Anything heavy. Anything sharp. I stuff the rocks in my pockets. It’ll slow me
down and I dare not go for a swim, but I need extra weapons when the pistol’s
empty and useless.
As I ready myself for war, my mind gets away from me and
starts thinking about the holes the Rakasa nest in.
My thought process goes somewhere I don’t like, but once
it’s there, there ain’t no calling it back.
What if those holes lead down to Hell itself? What if this
island, isolated and impossibly lost as it is in the ocean so vast, is the
gateway to the underworld?
What if the Rakasa are the gatekeepers?
Stupid thoughts. I know that. It’s so not like me, turning
to superstition when faced with reality. But as I look at the closest hole I
can’t help but marvel at how deep it goes, how dark it gets.
There’s a smell, too.
I know it’s the smell of mold and stagnant water mixed with
what must be animal waste, but I think I detect a bit of sulfur, too.
Fucking ridiculous, I know.
Pebbles tumble and fall into one of the holes, followed by
splashes down below.
They are watching me.
I grab the gun, polished by spit and reflective in the hot
sun. It has to look good because I certainly don’t. Gun in hand, I jog down the
hill.
I walk up to the hole that the proud Rakasa had disappeared
down the previous night and let them know I’m ready and waiting.
“Hurry up about it, you ugly bastards.”
A deep growl rises from the dark abyss. The hairs on my arms
betray me, standing on end in a sign of surrender.
I have a good poker face. I swallow my terror and look every
inch like the villain that I am, but my guts are in a tumble.
I’m horrified as I lean over the hole and vomit down into
the depths. I almost laugh as I wipe the bile from my lips.
“I hope you got that right in the face, mate.”
There’s no response. No visible action. No growling retort.
Maybe they’re scared of sunlight. They were so brazen in the
dark but in the day they hide in their little holes like scared kittens.
Or maybe they’re scared of me.
I smile and unzip my trousers, then piss down into their
sleeping quarters.
“Just marking my territory, lads!”
Rocks tumble down the hill at my back.
I can sense something moving up on me from behind.
I’m so fucking stupid…
I don’t dare turn. Pants undone, dick in the breeze, and
piss dribbling down into the dark, I am hardly in the position to face my foe.
My trigger finger’s trembling as I fix my pants and put
myself in order.
The growl at my back is low and quiet. The footsteps are
even quieter, barely disturbing the cracked earth.
I see three options.
First: turn and face the bastard with gun raised at the
ready. Hopefully I can put a bullet in its brain before it puts its teeth in
me.
My second option: I could dive into the dark hole and wait
for it to come down after me. I’m certain I can kill my pursuer but I’m less
certain about fending off whatever else awaits me below.
My final choice is to run for the lifeboat and get into the
ocean. Doing so means passing through the jungle, though, so…
The ground shifts directly behind me.
There’s a hot breath on the back of my arms.
I don’t think. I just run.
The Rakasa roars so loud that I think I feel blood in my
ears.
The leaves slap my face, the branches tear at my clothes,
and all the while I can hear the hairy beast right behind me.
Then I see it: the sword. Right where I left it, sticking
out of a tree.
Gotta time this just right. Run fast, grab the sword, spin
around and shove it right into the fucker’s open mouth. Let the creature impale
itself.
My sweaty hand grabs the sword and yanks it free. I spin,
sword pointed outwards, and go down onto one knee to brace for impact.
There’s nothing there. The jungle is silent and empty.
I don’t trust it, though, so I sheathe the sword and keep
running for the beach.
To hell with this island. I want—I
need
—to get away.
I hit the beach sand and the birds welcome my arrival with a
flurry of feathers and happy chirps. They sound like they’re laughing.
Takes me a moment to realize what they’re laughing about.
The boat is on the sand but it’s torn to pieces. It’s only a
wooden skeleton of what it used to be. I walk closer to see if it can be fixed.
Every piece of dislodged wood has been chewed up beyond
repair. A layer of slobber covers everything.
There’s a growl in the jungle and then another.
And then another. And another…
The birds silence themselves as the jungle comes alive with
the sounds of Hell.
Pretty sure I’m gonna die here.
But not yet.
I unsheathe the sword, cock the pistol, and step into the
jungle to greet my demons.
I
’m
standing on the edge of a hole when I get a vision.
I remember what Mary looks like now. I can recall her blue
eyes, her golden hair, and the little black dot on her left cheek that she
calls ‘
my dark star
.’ When she smiles she has dimples. When she winks
she is seductive. And when I kiss her, I know that she is a goddess and does
not belong on this earth with all these mere mortals.
I tremble over the hole and curse my memory for granting me
these visions.
Now I cannot go any farther, now I cannot act recklessly,
for now I remember too clearly what it is I stand to lose.
I never subscribed to the notion that love makes a man soft,
but I get it now. It’s not the woman’s fault or even the man’s, it’s their
union. Being one part of a two-part deal means you owe each other
something—fidelity, honesty, and, if you can help it, a safe return home.
What is the purpose of living if I can’t ever see her face
again?
My knees wobble and I fall against a tree to steady myself.
Fear wrecks me, clouds my vision, makes me stupid and defenseless.
I weep like a wee boy who’s lost in the dark. I want to get
away—get so very, very far away—but it’s impossible. Nothing about this island
makes sense. Nothing about my situation is any kind of fair. It’s fucked, is
what it is, and I’m fucked with it.
I barely notice the gentle touch of hair brushing against my
ankle. Something wraps tightly around my foot.
My feet are yanked out from underneath me and I fall flat on
my ass.
The hairy arm of a Rakasa is protruding from the hole, its
claws tightly gripping my foot.
I go for the pistol and take aim, but it’s pulling me again
and I fumble the gun.
I dig my hands into the dirt as I’m dragged screaming
towards the pitch black abyss. My last sight is that of the flintlock pistol
propped up on a rock like it’s on display, then the black envelops me and I’m
falling.
I stop screaming when I figure out that there’s no use to
it. I let the creature know I’m calm, I’m cool, and I’m the baddest
motherfucker they ever took home for dinner.
There’s nothing to see until we hit bottom.
The floor beneath me is wet and soggy like a swamp. I try to
stand and the ground clings to me. It’s in that moment that I realize the
animal has released me and I’m alone in the dark.
Well, not quite alone. Not alone at all, in fact. I can’t
see them, but I know they’re there. Everywhere. I’m surrounded by the beasts
who call the underground their home.
So, why don’t they attack?
I unsheathe my sword and swing it back and forth in the
dark, letting them know that if they want a nibble then it’s gonna cost ’em.
I stumble forward through the muck. Still can’t see shit,
but it makes no sense to stay where the thing left me like some obedient dog.
It smells like the toilets and I worry that’s what I’m
trudging through.
My left leg runs into something hard. I stab my sword at it,
but it’s nothing living. Still, it’s in my way, so I bend down to pick it up.
It’s hard like rock but there’s something soft clinging to
it. I run my hands up and down its length.
It’s a bone… a leg bone… from a human being.
I drop it and it splashes in the foul shit at my feet,
setting off a chorus of growls and hisses. The sound comes from every possible
direction. They’re all around me.
Their growls stop sounding threatening and start sounding
more like laughter.
They’re laughing because they know that I’m slowly figuring
out that the leg once belonged to David. They’re laughing because they know how
much that fucks with my head.
They’re laughing because they’re
evil
.
Hyenas laugh but an animal trader I know claims they’re
little different than wolves or big, hunchback dogs. Hyenas aren’t evil,
they’re just born ugly and entrusted with a sense of humor about things.
But these jesters set me up for a joke with one hell of a
stinger and now they’re yucking it up. There’s nothing natural about this.
Hair brushes against my left elbow. I pivot and stab the
sword into the black but it connects with nothing.
Hot breath passes over the back of my neck. I lunge and my
blade only stabs into the wall.
They’re growling and hissing louder than before. I try to
count the animal voices and I think I’m hearing at least a dozen of them at
once.
I take a step forward and bump into a wall covered with
hair. I’ve walked right into one of them.
It stands its ground. I can’t tell if it’s still on all
fours or if its reared up onto its back legs, but I feel its breath on my
chest. When it breathes out, warm spittle stains my shirt.
The rough, clawed hand swats my sword from out my grasp and
I tremble before the beast in the cold darkness.
Its teeth are inches from my throat.
My bladder goes. The animal sniffs the air as my urine
mingles with the blood and shit on the cavern floor.
It responds by pissing on me in return. The steaming urine
soaks my stomach and pants.
I almost want to tell the thing to just kill me and be quick
about it. I hurry things along by closing my hand into a fist and delivering a
punch to the Rakasa’s face.
I can’t see anything, so I don’t know how the bastard took
it, but I like to think he was surprised. My fist connected with hairy flesh
and wet teeth, so I’m sure he felt it.
The Rakasa splashes in the muck and comes up huffing.
I roll to wear my sword has fallen. I’m not lucky enough to
find the handle, so instead I grasp it by the blade and pray that I’m pointing
the pointy end back at my attacker.
The Rakasa roars and I roar back.
It leaps on top of me and I fall back into the mud.
Its claws and teeth sink into me, but I’m not pissing myself
in fear anymore. There doesn’t seem to be a point to fear when you know you’re
going to die.
I stab the blade into the beast’s chest. It wails in pain. I
stab it again and again. Blood and intestine spill out from its ripped belly.
I’m practically bathing in the creature’s blood before it
finally stops whimpering and its legs stop kicking.
I toss the dead Rakasa off me and stand up. I shout nonsense
at the shadows and the grieving creatures howl back at me like sad puppies.
I’ll give them something to be sad about.
My right hand’s badly cut from holding the blade, so I toss
the sword over to my left and start cutting.
I bring down the sword again and again on the Rakasa’s neck.
I’m dimly aware that I’m screaming as I do it. The predator’s head falls free
from its shoulders with one final
thwack
.
I grab the Rakasa’s head by the hair behind its ears and
hold it up like a trophy.
“Let that be a lesson to all you uglies skulking around in
the dark! You mess with me at your own fucking peril!”
It takes me a while to start breathing normal again. The
adrenaline of the kill is wearing off. By the time the Rakasa’s head starts feeling
heavy in my hand I come to realize that the caverns have gone eerily silent.
I’m alone.