MicroHorror

They are all here, even the ones with bad breath and greasy hair that never come. They think I’m moving out today. I tried to speak but all that comes out is a pleghmy gargle. I’ve had a bit of vodka, though, this morning. I needed it. At my age who notices? It will make the pain better.

Martha is here bossing everyone about as usual. Picking up my ornaments and turning them over to see if they are worth flogging. Then comes and pats my arm and call me “her” and “she” whenever she speaks. “She looks cold,” “she looks pleased,” “ahhh, I think she’s smiling.” I feel like the family cat about to be put down.

I’ve lived in this house for sixty years. I brought up their mothers and fathers in this house. Now I have to sit day after day, the smell of myself rising up through the chair that I sit in. They think they hide their repulsed flinches as they bend in to kiss my old flesh. They think they can catch death by being near me. I see it. I can’t speak but I can see.

“She will want those,” Martha says, “because Bob made them for her.” I smiled at that, which they took as my agreement. They didn’t know how Bob had gone through every woman in the neighborhood. He could be a bit handy with his fists too when the urge took him.

They are like tramps rummaging through bins, their cold eyes resting on my jewelry. I’m not going anywhere. One for the road, nice cup of tea before we go, they always say. I couldn’t have done it on my own, it wouldn’t be nice. I don’t want to be on my own when I die. Sounds silly, really. But you hear such stories about smells, and cats. Not for me. This lot of bastards never visits me unless it’s worth their while. So they might as well make themselves useful for once.

Martha’s fussing about again. She’s got her hands on my silk wraps. They are from Tokyo, handmade, but it’s wasted on her.

“Oh, look at these, Chinese things,” she is saying, told you, Tesco’s more her style.

“Now dear, how about a nice cup of tea. Before we go,” Martha says. Predictable Martha. I got the poison last week from the rat trap. It took ages to crush it up. I’m not leaving. I told them that ages ago but they just said “yes” and arranged the home anyway.

I soaked the tea bags in the rat poison first. Martha is always going on about marinades so she’ll appreciate it. I hope it works. I put some in the biscuits too.

They are all going to have a cup of tea. How did they get so fat? They are shoveling my biscuits in their mouths like they’ve never eaten. It was going to be just for me but looks like I’m sharing again. I brought up their fathers and mothers in this house. So it’s nice that we’ll all be here at the end. They never buy coffee. I always hated tea. They insist on buying it. Tastes like poison anyway.

Two lovers walk hand in hand, fingers intertwined. Moonlight reflects their silhouettes on the still water.

Unaware, absorbed with each other, they pause in the middle of the bridge, the two reflections now joining as one. The silhouette of an arm holds up a small box and a gasp of joy echoes over the water.

The sound trickles through the planks, penetrating to the deepest recesses under the bridge where darkness becomes one with shadow. It resonates in the hollow of an ancient cauldron suspended from a rusted trivet.

Luminescent eyes snap open, instantly alert, and peer from the darkness, watching, the waiting over.

She would warn them if she could. Scream, if she were able. Instead, she trembles with revulsion–a rattling sound, like a wind chime of brittle bones.

Old it was. As old as the stone from which it rose. Druidic lore warned of it. Hushed voices round crackling fires told tales of the beast in the forest and chanted spells of warding, but time had stilled them while she was young and yet roamed the land. The breeze through the branches sounded the alarm in furtive whispers, but men had long ago forgotten how to listen.

Impotent, she watches anew as an ancient evil awakens.

Years of frustration and helplessness tear at her. Sinewy muscles strain at feet long rooted to the ground. Yet she remains frozen, immobile. It has been so long… too long.

She had thought it dead or gone when she had chosen this spot. Moved on when Roman axes cut down the forests that were its home, a sole consolation for the sacrifice of so many of her kind. She had sent her roots deep, delving through cracks and crevices in search of sweet, untainted water, shutting out the world in blissful isolation. Too late the realization that she is held fast, powerless in a trap of her own making.

Silently she screams. A rending from within sends a quiver through her. Needles rain from branches suddenly devoid of sap and form a red carpet at water’s edge as the troll emerges, blinking in the moonlight.

Two pairs of heavyset paws hauled their load over the steep incline. Standing on the lip of the pit, the beast’s breath billowed in clouds of stinking mist into the chill air. Its rough tongue lapped across its heavy muzzle, mopping up a thick layer of blood, blacker than the surrounding shadows.

A breeze whispered through the trees, carrying the scent of sweat and fear. The beast passed through dense foliage, a ghost flitting between the ancient trunks, and panted with effort. A wound in its hindquarters glistened raw and red, a single point of searing agony that radiated through its being in throbbing ringlets. The beast pressed on through the wood, forcing the pain away, tracking the last of the creatures.

The first had been dispatched immediately, its throat removed in a black cloud of rage and pain. For an instant–only an instant–the beast had frozen, facing its two remaining tormentors. The creatures were too far apart to risk leaping at either one and, besides, it had never seen them or their like before. They were thin and pale, lacking even the most rudimentary covering of fur to combat the cold and damp of the forest. Their skin was stranger still, comprised of ungainly flaps and folds of varying hues and textures.

No sooner had it taken in the strange appearance of these creatures than one of them had bolted for the tree line and the beast, driven by adrenaline and fury, had ploughed through the woods in hot pursuit. This second creature had fallen into a ditch that the overgrown forest floor had artfully disguised and the beast had swiftly moved in and taken its life, gorging itself on the creature’s warm, red flesh.

Now, pacing through its black domain, its muscles ached and its back legs roared their pain as it tracked the panic and fear coursing from the pores of the third creature. The beast had no perception of the need for revenge, but it understood the concept of territory well enough to know that its own had been invaded.

Suddenly, it stopped in its tracks. There had been a subtle change in the nature of its prey’s scent. The familiar odor of terror was still there, ripe and pungent, but now it was mingled with something akin to relief. More than that, the smell was no longer carried tight through the narrow channel of the trees but had expanded beyond the claustrophobic darkness.

The creature had broken free of the woods.

Springing forwards, the beast ran with renewed energy, tracking this new scent that blossomed within its nostrils. As it broke through the final layer of cover, the beast felt the cold air and driving rain whip across the length of its body, stinging its wounded hindquarters and forcing a guttural snarl from its lips.

The creature was high up in the branches of the nearest tree, although the beast sensed its presence before it saw it, perched there like some ungainly bird. The fear was palpable in the small clearing and was reflected in the creature’s eyes as the beast ambled slowly towards its nesting place. Placing both forelegs on the trunk, it walked up its length, extending its body until its claws snagged a thin branch just shy of its prey. The bough gave way beneath the weight of the beast, sending it tumbling to the ground.

Lowering its head, the beast pushed with its muscular forelegs, ramming hard into the slender trunk, getting nothing for its labors beyond an impressive swaying of the tree and a cry of alarm from the creature that sheltered within.

Afflicted by pain at both ends of its body, the beast snarled in frustration as the creature looked down, its eyes wide and staring. It circled the tree, confused and enraged, as the creature followed its every movement until it settled itself at the base of the trunk and stared up into the branches.

The beast waited.