Ferret
Explorer
Slightly strange short story, I hope you enjoy. Warning, very short and strange, slight possibility to offend.
The day was dead. Not just lifeless, but decaying. It was as though it had been hung up so that that the blood could drain out, and now it was trickling out over the sky, pooling on the horizon, staining the sun red. Disaffected clouds drifted by, unintentionally soaking up the crimson taint, but unable to stem the bleeding, the day had turned a baleful grey.
Sean squinted against the weary light, the aching in his muscles oozed over and through his joints, fooling his body into a kind of premature lethargy that should have only plagued the old and sickly. Assuring himself that he was neither afflicted by age nor disease, he continued, his body roaring in protest. He would not have entertained such thoughts had the circumstances been different. Sean, however, did not have the privilege of reviving the dead. ‘Yes’, pleaded what was quickly becoming but a thin veneer of sanity, ‘Definitely dead’. No it had not moved. And yes it had been a man, not that ghastly apparition that had confronted him. The whole thought shook Sean in a place he didn’t even believe in.
The event itself was burned into his memory, searing like an invasion upon his soul; something else he didn’t believe in. It was not hard to recall the bloated and disfigured body of Mr. Canderberry; he had almost sunk when he saw it. However he had been tempered into disbelief by his scepticism, and continued towards the now stagnant pool, where he had seen it. It, in fact was not the body he was carrying, but the ‘thing' that had risen from the pool like a spirit from the grave, and was describable only by its malevolence, which had been enough to throw him off his feet, the beast then had whispered towards him, its breath smelling like rancid almonds, and the air leaving little droplets on his cheeks that burned the blood in his skin. The acrid stench burned in his eyes, causing him to screw them into tight balls of white heat. It had taken him a considerable time to recover, he could not tell how long, Sean had never owned a watch and was thus unable to tell the time, but once he had pealed the crust of spittle off his eyes, he could see how the sun was now precariously balanced on the horizon. Sean saw that the fiend had receded back to whatever abyss had spawned it like blood flowing down a shower drain, allowing Sean to tentatively remove the body, warily dragging it from the pit the pool had become.
Sean had found it difficult to even take the body out of the swimming pool, mainly because Mr. Canderberry was in no way a small man, in fact compared to Sean’s meagre frame he was a flabby giant. Sean, despite this, felt obliged to carry him to help. He had sustained Sean through most of his adult life, given him shelter, food, a job; in short the man’s efforts had given Sean a life where he would not have had one. Sean was a bastard. He had come to terms with that fact back when he was still being bullied in the orphanage. Mr. Canderberry had acted like a father in many ways; more then a guardian, but far less then any real parent. And now the only way he could repay the man was in his death, the solemn fact only strengthened Sean’s resolve. He struggled him onto the man’s couch, wrestling his legs into a horizontal position, the body’s muscles already tightening. Its eyes still glared, as though the evil in them was waiting for Sean to turn his back, look away or simply relax so it could uncurl and strike. Sean circled with an undue sense of fear at the now stone cold weight before him, as he moved towards the phone, treating the pallid lump of flesh as though it was a snake, reared and envenomed with malice. ‘It’s only the corpse of your foster father’, Sean told himself; somehow this was not comforting. Sean reached down and grasped the phone, relieved to have some contact with the sane world. Sean lifted it with all due speed and rapidly tapped the buttons on the phone, glad to hear the nasal, high pitched voice of the operator on the other end. He told the operator as much as he cared to tell him, then relieved the phone by setting it back in the holder, when he had been told the ambulance was coming.
The ambulance drove along the overly gravelled drive, the tires sinking ever so slightly, pushing the gravel out from underneath. Sean noted that they had not bothered to sound their sirens; even they could tell how lifeless Mr. Canderberry was. Sean explained every detail of what had happened, and kept every detail of what had, most definitely, did not happened to himself. He had expected more questions, but was relieved when he was able to collapse in an exhausted excuse for what he expected to be rest; however it was nothing like sleep. What it was, he didn’t know, but his subconscious mind was open to whatever attack it had planned and as far as he could tell, he was loosing. The emotions that laid waste to Sean were not alien, but what ever it was that had invaded tore at his mind, warped the fragments it stole and then used them to plough with vehement pleasure through his psyche.
Sean awoke to see a regurgitated ocean of blood pooled next to his mouth, and brown twigs jutting out. It took some time to realise what on earth was happening, but when he came to his senses he dragged him self up and wiped his mouth clear. He, had no idea how he had gotten into the copse that adjoined the house, it didn’t matter to Sean though. By the look of it, it had been at least an hour since he had vomited up the blood, but he could still feel the gap somewhere inside of him. That wasn’t the last of it though, as more blood leapt in hiccoughs and retches out of Sean’s body. A final trickle of blood ventured over the ridge that separated his left nostril from his lip, it lingered on the lip but decided to coagulate on the corner of Sean’s lips. The taste soaked into his tongue, without a blink it had infected his throat and threatened to send another pulse of vomiting fits Sean’s way. He couldn’t muster another seizure if he tried. He wasn’t planning on it anyway. Sean collapsed, not unconscious, but it was on his to do list; fatigued. From the forest floor he struggled to note, how the colours had decided to bleed into one another, dancing across his eyes. Trying to stand he swayed in the noisy colours, tumbling in blood and dirt. With kaleidoscopic ease the dirt and twigs snuggled in tighter. Sean panicked. He struggled against them. The hallucination insisted. Sean began to choke, he made pathetic swimming motions trying to escape, but all of Sean’s efforts became nothing.
The day was dead. Not just lifeless, but decaying. It was as though it had been hung up so that that the blood could drain out, and now it was trickling out over the sky, pooling on the horizon, staining the sun red. Disaffected clouds drifted by, unintentionally soaking up the crimson taint, but unable to stem the bleeding, the day had turned a baleful grey.
Sean squinted against the weary light, the aching in his muscles oozed over and through his joints, fooling his body into a kind of premature lethargy that should have only plagued the old and sickly. Assuring himself that he was neither afflicted by age nor disease, he continued, his body roaring in protest. He would not have entertained such thoughts had the circumstances been different. Sean, however, did not have the privilege of reviving the dead. ‘Yes’, pleaded what was quickly becoming but a thin veneer of sanity, ‘Definitely dead’. No it had not moved. And yes it had been a man, not that ghastly apparition that had confronted him. The whole thought shook Sean in a place he didn’t even believe in.
The event itself was burned into his memory, searing like an invasion upon his soul; something else he didn’t believe in. It was not hard to recall the bloated and disfigured body of Mr. Canderberry; he had almost sunk when he saw it. However he had been tempered into disbelief by his scepticism, and continued towards the now stagnant pool, where he had seen it. It, in fact was not the body he was carrying, but the ‘thing' that had risen from the pool like a spirit from the grave, and was describable only by its malevolence, which had been enough to throw him off his feet, the beast then had whispered towards him, its breath smelling like rancid almonds, and the air leaving little droplets on his cheeks that burned the blood in his skin. The acrid stench burned in his eyes, causing him to screw them into tight balls of white heat. It had taken him a considerable time to recover, he could not tell how long, Sean had never owned a watch and was thus unable to tell the time, but once he had pealed the crust of spittle off his eyes, he could see how the sun was now precariously balanced on the horizon. Sean saw that the fiend had receded back to whatever abyss had spawned it like blood flowing down a shower drain, allowing Sean to tentatively remove the body, warily dragging it from the pit the pool had become.
Sean had found it difficult to even take the body out of the swimming pool, mainly because Mr. Canderberry was in no way a small man, in fact compared to Sean’s meagre frame he was a flabby giant. Sean, despite this, felt obliged to carry him to help. He had sustained Sean through most of his adult life, given him shelter, food, a job; in short the man’s efforts had given Sean a life where he would not have had one. Sean was a bastard. He had come to terms with that fact back when he was still being bullied in the orphanage. Mr. Canderberry had acted like a father in many ways; more then a guardian, but far less then any real parent. And now the only way he could repay the man was in his death, the solemn fact only strengthened Sean’s resolve. He struggled him onto the man’s couch, wrestling his legs into a horizontal position, the body’s muscles already tightening. Its eyes still glared, as though the evil in them was waiting for Sean to turn his back, look away or simply relax so it could uncurl and strike. Sean circled with an undue sense of fear at the now stone cold weight before him, as he moved towards the phone, treating the pallid lump of flesh as though it was a snake, reared and envenomed with malice. ‘It’s only the corpse of your foster father’, Sean told himself; somehow this was not comforting. Sean reached down and grasped the phone, relieved to have some contact with the sane world. Sean lifted it with all due speed and rapidly tapped the buttons on the phone, glad to hear the nasal, high pitched voice of the operator on the other end. He told the operator as much as he cared to tell him, then relieved the phone by setting it back in the holder, when he had been told the ambulance was coming.
The ambulance drove along the overly gravelled drive, the tires sinking ever so slightly, pushing the gravel out from underneath. Sean noted that they had not bothered to sound their sirens; even they could tell how lifeless Mr. Canderberry was. Sean explained every detail of what had happened, and kept every detail of what had, most definitely, did not happened to himself. He had expected more questions, but was relieved when he was able to collapse in an exhausted excuse for what he expected to be rest; however it was nothing like sleep. What it was, he didn’t know, but his subconscious mind was open to whatever attack it had planned and as far as he could tell, he was loosing. The emotions that laid waste to Sean were not alien, but what ever it was that had invaded tore at his mind, warped the fragments it stole and then used them to plough with vehement pleasure through his psyche.
Sean awoke to see a regurgitated ocean of blood pooled next to his mouth, and brown twigs jutting out. It took some time to realise what on earth was happening, but when he came to his senses he dragged him self up and wiped his mouth clear. He, had no idea how he had gotten into the copse that adjoined the house, it didn’t matter to Sean though. By the look of it, it had been at least an hour since he had vomited up the blood, but he could still feel the gap somewhere inside of him. That wasn’t the last of it though, as more blood leapt in hiccoughs and retches out of Sean’s body. A final trickle of blood ventured over the ridge that separated his left nostril from his lip, it lingered on the lip but decided to coagulate on the corner of Sean’s lips. The taste soaked into his tongue, without a blink it had infected his throat and threatened to send another pulse of vomiting fits Sean’s way. He couldn’t muster another seizure if he tried. He wasn’t planning on it anyway. Sean collapsed, not unconscious, but it was on his to do list; fatigued. From the forest floor he struggled to note, how the colours had decided to bleed into one another, dancing across his eyes. Trying to stand he swayed in the noisy colours, tumbling in blood and dirt. With kaleidoscopic ease the dirt and twigs snuggled in tighter. Sean panicked. He struggled against them. The hallucination insisted. Sean began to choke, he made pathetic swimming motions trying to escape, but all of Sean’s efforts became nothing.
