Shifting Shadows- A Character Study, Odd Perspective
#3 of Standalone Stories and Poems
A quick character study/horror piece about a were-creature of ambiguous species. Told from a weird perspective, for science.
Mature for violence.
Hands groped through the gloom of midnight, probing for something. Hungry, so hungry. The creature's gnarled fingers found purchase on a wall that it couldn't so much see as feel. It was hunting.
As it felt it's way around the corner in the alley, avoiding the trashcans, skateboards, and other junk instinctually. Its bestiality was a weapon, and a tool.
It saw a momentary flash illuminate the alley farther down on it's left. It crouched, and began to slink down the little path between the buildings. The light had imprinted the layout of the alley on its mind, and it had no trouble finding its way. It heard voices. The Walking spoke!
"G'night Phil! Pick you up tomorrow, right?"
A voice responded from somewhere farther down the sidewalk. "Yup. Later, Jaxyn."
The creature watched as the one called Jaxyn began to stride down the street. It had one of the Firehammers attached to its upper leg. A twinge of fear worked its way up the creature's spine. It swallowed it and remembered what was really important: food. The Walking were good hunting, and succulent flesh rolled over their bony frames. The thing licked its lips. It had made up its mind.
It stalked across the street, taking cover whenever it was provided. It unsheathed its razor-sharp claws. These the Walking feared. Silently, scentless, it half crawled, half ran down the street behind the one called Jaxyn. Just as it reached out its paw to snuff the life of this moving dinner, it made an inexcusable mistake: it paused. Not for very long, just about a tenth of a second, but it was enough.
The Walking stopped, sniffed, wrinkled its nose, and turned. The creature smiled a sickly mix of hunger and hatred, and leapt. The one called Jaxyn unsheathed its Firehammer and threw its fury at the nightmare. It fell.
A radio crackled to life, and the fuzzy voice of a nowhere Walking broke through the void in the creature's mind. "Jaxyn? Jaxyn, you all right? I heard the gunshot. What's happening?"
The one called Jaxyn poked the creature with its toe. The thing decided to keep up the ruse as long as it could. It hurt, but the pain was not unbearable.
"Shadespawn, Henry. Almost got me."
"What? Where are you, where is it?"
"I'm at the corner of Greenwich and Fifth. Can you come get it? I want to go to bed."
"Yes, but where is it?"
"It's dead."
"Oh. I'll be right there. You just stick a Beacon on it and go on home. I'll take care of it."
"Thanks. Jaxyn out."
The Shadespawn felt the air undulate as the Walking's hand came toward it. It was time.
It rolled and leapt all in one movement, head butting the one called Jaxyn in the gut. It heard the satisfying crunch as ribs broke and the yelp of pain. The Firehammer fired again, missed the creature by three feet as it gripped the wall of the building and ran sideways.
Again, the weapon fired, and again, and whether it hit or missed made no difference. The creature could cope with pain. Hunger was worse. It finally planted its feet on a windowsill and threw its bulk at the meat sack in front of it. Its muzzle unclasped.
The Firehammer was out of fire. As the one called Jaxyn struggled to reload it, the Shadespawn hit. The Walking's scream ended abruptly as the thing made a clean cut across its jugular. The scream bled. The predator dragged its trophy into the shadows. The night fell silent.