Cartoonicat
Future Crazy Cat Lady
Things would have been better if Michael had just stayed at home. He wouldn't be hiding in the hollow of a tree, rain crashing down around him, otherwise. Wouldn't be missing out on his tradition of watching scary movies every Halloween night. But the police had told him not to get involved - "You're just a kid. Act like it, and leave the search to professionals." - and he'd never been good at taking orders.
A growl sounded to the left of him. Michael tensed, breath hitching. Went still as stone. The low rumbling grew louder and Michael could see the shine of red eyes in his peripheral. They looked right at him. Stared holes through his skin.
I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to die-
More movement. The eyes disappeared into the storm and the growling ceased. All Michael heard for the next few minutes was the sound of rain and thunder. His own breathing, now heavy and uninhibited. He curled his knees close to his chest and cupped his face in his hands. After entering the woods he'd gotten turned around amidst the maze of trees. Lost his way while searching for Sarah - Please be okay, sis - and had no clue how to make it back to Aunt Gail's lodge.
Not that he'd go back without Sarah, though. Especially not after catching sight of a wolf or bear or whatever the hell kind of creature had red eyes. Despite the three days since her disappearance, Michael knew she was out here somewhere. Felt it in his bones. Casey said he'd seen her playing at the edge maybe an hour before their aunt expected them home; why he hadn't stopped his car and offered her a ride when he knew Michael was running late, he didn't know.
Whatever. The swift knuckle sandwich and accompanying black eye Michael gave him would hopefully change Casey's attitude for next time. Michael wouldn't be out here if his stupid cousin had just used his head.
Michael stayed like that, hunched over his knees with his face buried away, for a good five minutes. Lost inside the forest, lost inside his head. Drowning in thoughts of Sarah and scary what-ifs he didn't want to think about but couldn't help himself. Eventually the storm began to lessen - thunder rumbled in the distance, muffled by lightening rain clouds. Stirring, he lifted his head and rubbed wetness from his eyes.
Michael froze.
Red eyes stared at him from just a few steps away. A silhouette low to the ground, washed in darkness, crept towards him. Hot puffs of breath warmed his face, filling his nostrils with the scent of metal and butterscotch. He thought of the butterscotch fudge Aunt Gail kept around the house. Wished he'd gotten to taste it one more time.
One last strike of lightning crackled in the sky. Illuminated the world below, coloring the trees, the dirt, the grass in a night's wash of green and brown. The silhouette came to life in strobic bursts: long fangs protruding from a distorted snout; patches of yellow-blonde fur; human hands with nails stretched into claws, digging into the dirt on either side of him; and a broken red ribbon matted in the hair.
"Sarah-?"
Boom!
Blood erupted against the wall of Michael's hiding place. He and his sister went limp, dropped to the floor. Then, several steps away, came the squelch of tactical boots. Using his shotgun to nudge the young corpses, the hunter shook his head.
"Got her, sheriff," he called over his shoulder. "The boy, though... what do we tell their aunt?"
"Gail trusts us. She'll believe whatever we tell her."
"... And their bodies?"
The sheriff scratched his chin, contemplative. One beat, two beat, three beats later and he sighed: "Burn 'em."
That night a freak fire would light in the woods, despite the recent storm. Some locals would claim spirits wreaked havoc. Other, like Casey Dougan who'd found remnants of motor oil later that week, would suspect something far worse had happened to his cousins.
A growl sounded to the left of him. Michael tensed, breath hitching. Went still as stone. The low rumbling grew louder and Michael could see the shine of red eyes in his peripheral. They looked right at him. Stared holes through his skin.
I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to die-
More movement. The eyes disappeared into the storm and the growling ceased. All Michael heard for the next few minutes was the sound of rain and thunder. His own breathing, now heavy and uninhibited. He curled his knees close to his chest and cupped his face in his hands. After entering the woods he'd gotten turned around amidst the maze of trees. Lost his way while searching for Sarah - Please be okay, sis - and had no clue how to make it back to Aunt Gail's lodge.
Not that he'd go back without Sarah, though. Especially not after catching sight of a wolf or bear or whatever the hell kind of creature had red eyes. Despite the three days since her disappearance, Michael knew she was out here somewhere. Felt it in his bones. Casey said he'd seen her playing at the edge maybe an hour before their aunt expected them home; why he hadn't stopped his car and offered her a ride when he knew Michael was running late, he didn't know.
Whatever. The swift knuckle sandwich and accompanying black eye Michael gave him would hopefully change Casey's attitude for next time. Michael wouldn't be out here if his stupid cousin had just used his head.
Michael stayed like that, hunched over his knees with his face buried away, for a good five minutes. Lost inside the forest, lost inside his head. Drowning in thoughts of Sarah and scary what-ifs he didn't want to think about but couldn't help himself. Eventually the storm began to lessen - thunder rumbled in the distance, muffled by lightening rain clouds. Stirring, he lifted his head and rubbed wetness from his eyes.
Michael froze.
Red eyes stared at him from just a few steps away. A silhouette low to the ground, washed in darkness, crept towards him. Hot puffs of breath warmed his face, filling his nostrils with the scent of metal and butterscotch. He thought of the butterscotch fudge Aunt Gail kept around the house. Wished he'd gotten to taste it one more time.
One last strike of lightning crackled in the sky. Illuminated the world below, coloring the trees, the dirt, the grass in a night's wash of green and brown. The silhouette came to life in strobic bursts: long fangs protruding from a distorted snout; patches of yellow-blonde fur; human hands with nails stretched into claws, digging into the dirt on either side of him; and a broken red ribbon matted in the hair.
"Sarah-?"
Boom!
Blood erupted against the wall of Michael's hiding place. He and his sister went limp, dropped to the floor. Then, several steps away, came the squelch of tactical boots. Using his shotgun to nudge the young corpses, the hunter shook his head.
"Got her, sheriff," he called over his shoulder. "The boy, though... what do we tell their aunt?"
"Gail trusts us. She'll believe whatever we tell her."
"... And their bodies?"
The sheriff scratched his chin, contemplative. One beat, two beat, three beats later and he sighed: "Burn 'em."
That night a freak fire would light in the woods, despite the recent storm. Some locals would claim spirits wreaked havoc. Other, like Casey Dougan who'd found remnants of motor oil later that week, would suspect something far worse had happened to his cousins.
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