10-29-2021, 08:24 PM
Mouth set in a grim line, Sawbone’s orange eyes flicker left and right. There is nothing in the darkness and the fog, not even the faintest glimmer of the moon. Twisted anxiety swells in his belly and his chest, and all he can do against the tide is close his eyes. He’s gotten this far, that’s all he knows.
He knows he is brave enough and steady enough to face what lies within the fog.
It doesn’t take long—no more than a few minutes—for the mist’s monsters to reveal themselves. Their coming starts with quiet grunts and growls, so low Saw has to stop his hurried walk to make sure he is not imagining the noise. Sure enough, the disquieting noises of the living dead begin a slow climb to a crescendo. The boy hunches his shoulders and moves faster.
Where once was the soft crunch of his boots comes the overwhelming orchestra of zombies. It is only a few minutes longer before the monsters are crowding his dust and shrub-lined path. Panic chokes Sawbone as he quickly glances to the canyon walls on either side of him.
Trapped.
He is trapped.
Too tired for words, for song lyrics he does not recognize, Sawbone doesn’t curse and cry out. He merely attempts to steady his breathing, taking air in through his nose and out through his mouth. In the limited light of the Halloween darkness, he can just barely make out the shapes of the creatures. One with a back so bent its unusually long arms drag in the clay. Another tall and fox-like, with a slender snout and spikes that slim to dangerous ends along its back. He sees one more, the last one he can care to notice before their presences drive him mad. It is decidedly feminine, human in form and willowy. An orange and yellow glimmer taunts him. As it moves, it drags a leg, hips swaying unnaturally. He knows it for what it is: his mother. Sawbone drags in a shaky breath.
For the third time tonight, he thinks he is going to die.
He just never thought it would be by his mother’s hand.
As the creature approaches, Saw stands statue-still. Slowly, so slowly, she draws close enough to reveal all of her nightmare features. Where beautiful eyes once glimmered, hollow sockets with a pale, golden light in the middle reside. Her mouth, once soft and loving, is too-wide and set with sharp teeth. She grins, accentuating how her nose is too small for her face. The damp hair along her shoulder and back is stringy and dead.
“Mo—” he tries, but feels some stupid phrase falling out instead. The creature stops, unblinking eyes peering at him. At a pace that can only be described as creeping, his mother’s corpse grabs his elbow. Saw glances down at it, only looking up again when she tugs on him impatiently. He follows blindly, quietly thanking the gods that he has a mother loving enough to cling to her maternal instinct even in death.
Patient, scheming Jack waits for his arrival. Saw merely swallows and lifts his chin at the sight of him.
He knows he is brave enough and steady enough to face what lies within the fog.
It doesn’t take long—no more than a few minutes—for the mist’s monsters to reveal themselves. Their coming starts with quiet grunts and growls, so low Saw has to stop his hurried walk to make sure he is not imagining the noise. Sure enough, the disquieting noises of the living dead begin a slow climb to a crescendo. The boy hunches his shoulders and moves faster.
Where once was the soft crunch of his boots comes the overwhelming orchestra of zombies. It is only a few minutes longer before the monsters are crowding his dust and shrub-lined path. Panic chokes Sawbone as he quickly glances to the canyon walls on either side of him.
Trapped.
He is trapped.
Too tired for words, for song lyrics he does not recognize, Sawbone doesn’t curse and cry out. He merely attempts to steady his breathing, taking air in through his nose and out through his mouth. In the limited light of the Halloween darkness, he can just barely make out the shapes of the creatures. One with a back so bent its unusually long arms drag in the clay. Another tall and fox-like, with a slender snout and spikes that slim to dangerous ends along its back. He sees one more, the last one he can care to notice before their presences drive him mad. It is decidedly feminine, human in form and willowy. An orange and yellow glimmer taunts him. As it moves, it drags a leg, hips swaying unnaturally. He knows it for what it is: his mother. Sawbone drags in a shaky breath.
For the third time tonight, he thinks he is going to die.
He just never thought it would be by his mother’s hand.
As the creature approaches, Saw stands statue-still. Slowly, so slowly, she draws close enough to reveal all of her nightmare features. Where beautiful eyes once glimmered, hollow sockets with a pale, golden light in the middle reside. Her mouth, once soft and loving, is too-wide and set with sharp teeth. She grins, accentuating how her nose is too small for her face. The damp hair along her shoulder and back is stringy and dead.
“Mo—” he tries, but feels some stupid phrase falling out instead. The creature stops, unblinking eyes peering at him. At a pace that can only be described as creeping, his mother’s corpse grabs his elbow. Saw glances down at it, only looking up again when she tugs on him impatiently. He follows blindly, quietly thanking the gods that he has a mother loving enough to cling to her maternal instinct even in death.
Patient, scheming Jack waits for his arrival. Saw merely swallows and lifts his chin at the sight of him.