MicroHorror

James walked past the mirror again, this time stopping to look into it full-on. He thought that there was a subtle change in his face. Staring into the dusty glass he studied the familiar features carefully. His nose was different. Its shape had changed since this morning when he shaved. The nostrils were more flared and there was more hair than usual protruding from each nostril. Rubbing his finger over the bridge of his nose he continued to stare.

Something strange had been happening to him since he returned home two weeks ago. He and his brother Edward had been in Canada hunting moose with some old army buddies. Their guide must have gotten confused about landmarks. At any rate, out of the stark white fog of the northern landscape appeared an apparition of terrible appearance.

“Shaman,” said the guide. “We must’ve gotten too close to some grave or pile of stones that they revere. Back away slowly.”

James had been nipping from the small flask he always carried on these hunting trips to ward off the cold. “The hell,” he said. “I just saw the biggest damn bull moose in history walk that way and that’s the way I’m going.” He pointed to the south, taking a step in that direction.

The shaman jumped in front of him, shaking a large stick with a skull on the end of it right in his face while chanting furiously.

“No, seriously, James, best not to get the locals stirred up. They can cause us a lot of trouble.”

James ignored the admonition, continuing to walk in his intended direction. The shaman put an arm out to stop him, but James grabbed the old man’s arm and threw him out of his way. He laughed as the shaman fell backwards into a snow bank.

“James, knock it off! These guys carry a lot of weight around here! You’re drunk!”

James continued on his way, ignoring the guide. He heard the faint sound of a moose stepping on icy snow off to his right.

Without warning, the shaman was again in front of James, his face a contorted, angry mask, now singing a chant that had a dirge-like quality to it. When James had stopped, surprised by the old man’s persistence, the shaman touched the staff to James’s chest, and then pointed it straight up to the sky. All of the men stared up, including James. There in the thinning clouds were two bright rainbow-colored patches of light, one on either side of the sun. They seemed to be growing larger as the men watched.

“My God, sun dogs! And these are really amazing!” The guide was obviously excited.

“Hey, man, what’re sun dogs?” Edward was gaping in awe at the sight, unable to look away.

James was standing stock still, staring up at the sky, and appeared confused.

“These things are very rare events that form around the sun. The natives think that they indicate some great evil taking place. They are very bad omens.”

The shaman looked once again at James, shaking the skull in his direction. The hunters turned around, heading back toward their campsite. James followed along, a hangdog look on his face.

The brothers flew back home the following day. Neither of them spoke about the shaman or the sun dogs. James started to notice the changes in his features four days after arriving home. He had already begun to wear his hair longer in order to cover up the tufts of fur growing on the tips of his ears. There was no way that he would be able to hide his nose.