From Darkness It Was Created

It was born a legend; a myth that grew a heart to beat along with the fear. A night-long fog that condensed into a body with limbs longer than steel beams and greater strength than a god. A creature that gorged on the nightmares it created and became the perfect mirror to the monster they all feared.

It started as folklore, then grew into a boogeyman that stalked not the underside the beds of lambs, but the forests where, like clockwork, all lost children came to find.

____

“They say it was born from the darkness itself. That the darkness consumed the nothingness it bore and created something. Hid it in the trees and fed it with itself, growin’ it until it was ready. Ready to eat anything else that came to feed it.

“The moon won’t shine her face on it; and the animals, they won’t enters its den, won’t even move when the moon ain’t even brave enough to watch it for ‘um.

“But see, humans, we’re different, don’t have the same instincts, don’t feel the same warning. And because of that, army never even knew what hit ‘um, or at least the men that ran didn’t. There were a dozen to begin with, new men, all starting out. New mission, yah yah” The spinner paused, “only some of the men ain’t wanting to be on this mission. And that close to the trees,” he cocked a smile, “well, let’s just say, no matter how big a story tells itself, it’s just a story, right? So they ran. Right into those trees. Cowards. Team didn’t even know what happened, just watched ‘um go. Decided to camp there, waiting for ‘um, you know? Only no one came out. And the things they heard…”

“What they hear, Roderick?” Came a whisper from the shortest of the four, Derek.

Firelight flickered from the pit the four men surrounded. Roderick paused in the tale he was re-spinning, admiring and enjoying the suspense their crackling caretaker provided along with his cues. Before long, it too settled, waiting as the rest of the story that was being told.

With an inching smile, Roderick licked his lips to begin again. “…Screams, louder and longer than the cries from Hell, coming right outta those trees. Like banshees were living in those woods. Tortured souls coming for Hallows’ Eve.”

He deepened his voice, “‘Sounds like one of our man,’ says one.”

And then lightened it, “‘Gotta go in a get them out’ goes another.”

Before returning to his haunting spinner speech, “So a group of ‘um, no more than the number that ran in the first place, all start charging in, guns up, ready for anything. But they weren’t ready. Not for what they found.”

Another flickers as the fire rears its faces, as do the forms around him.

“What they find, Roderick?” Whispered a familiar murmur.

He glanced at Derek, a mouthful away from make a crack of his mother, but not this story.

“See, they were looking at the ground, lookin’ for their comrades’ remains. Waiting to see one batter and bruised, screaming like the banshees they still hear. ‘Cept they saw nothing. Not even tracks. So they keep walking. Deeper in. And deeper in. And the screaming’s getting louder and louder.” He glanced first at Derek, then trailed over to Lucas. “Longer even, like there’s just one endless breath bein’ used. And it’s getting louder. And louder.” And switches left to watch his brother Abel. “Until finally, they can’t understand, ‘cause the screams, well they sound like they’re standing right there on those boys. But the howling, it’s too clear to be coming from the dirt, but it’s still coming. Loud as ever with that agony singing in their throats, but where—”

He glanced up quick into the canopies resting with the wisps of smoke above him.

Three faces launch up towards the heavens simultaneously. And when they find nothing as Roderick knew they would, they returned their attention to him. “And just like that, as they eyed the empty trees above them, the screaming stopped. And one of them looks back, and sees the sun arising on the horizon, points it out. But the others take no notice. Know why?

“‘Cause, three foot from ‘um, still in the near depth of the trees is the helmet of one of the deserter. Bloodier than all hell, sitting like it’s been there the entire year, only it wasn’t there ‘second ago. Something came right to them, and left it there like a taunt in a game of tag. Empty just like the trees. Empty like the forest.”

And he concluded. “They searched those woods clear until dusk for those missing boys, but no result came from it. News say the enemy got ‘um. Took ‘um with them to be P.O.W.s; but even cowards put up a fight when their life rest on it. But there weren’t none. No gunfire. No bullet casings. No blood. Nothing. But the screams.

“And story says, if you goes into the woods at night, any woods, during the monster’s domain, you can still hear those men scream their banshee screams, and if you’re real lucky,” He smiled, “or unlucky, you’ll see the thing that caused ‘um.”

There was a moment of silence, excluding the crackle of the fire, before it was filled with applause.

Roderick tried his best to bow in his seated position. “Thank you. Thank you. You’re too kind. Now...”

Roderick ended his tale by demanding they all get ready to sleep. Being sixteen he wasn’t the oldest, but his one-year senior was already too busy drowning himself into a stupor to care and the two remaining, as the youngest, couldn’t argue, in fear of sounding like children whining to stay up past dark.

Derek looked towards Roderick as he settled into his bag, “That story really true?” (Derek had a troubled time with nightmares away from home.)

Roderick repositioned the logs from his own bag. Mouth open to answer, he was interrupted as a nearly somber-less Lucas came tumbling down beside him. “Of course is true.” He slurred. “Our little story-teller—gets h’ tales from the bones ‘selves.” He chuckled to himself, “After he’s done with the fresher corpses, that ‘s.” And ended with an over-indulged cackle.

With his giddy friend tuned to the background, Roderick returned to Derek.

“Just a tale my gramps told me: a superstition to ward off runaways durin’ the war, ain’t nothing more.”

Abel laid stiff in his own bag, listening to his brother speak, remember the grandfather Roderick recalled. White hair. Blue eyes. Seemingly senile. Always rumbling about the wars and fights he’d been in, ready to show you his battle scars. Abel was surprised Roderick had even paid attention – unlike Abel, who spent those visits daydreaming – let alone decipher his grandfather’s gargle into actual words – enough that was to make a story.

Abel began to doze some time after the story ended and the rest of the camp calmed. His dreams – of his grandfather, sitting quietly in his wheelchair at the home. Muttering under his breath about ‘monsters on the battlefields’ and ‘cowards hidden behind their mothers’ skirts’. Until the facility’s walls turned to trees and the ceiling collapsed and became the gravel of the earth below the chair. His grandfather stood, blanket falling from his lap, revealing the dress of camouflage from his war days. His cane turned into a gun, which he raised to his shoulder, turning swiftly ‘round and ‘round, trying to see an enemy hidden in the leaves. Grass grew through the carpet beneath his dancing feet and curled like nails around his boots. Then the screaming began; and men came from around the trees, backs towards one another, collecting into a pod in the small clearing of trees. All circling together, trying to find—

Abel started awake, the screams following him from sleep. But as the night’s dreams dispersed, the screams continued. One tortured wail that rang to his very core. He was scrambling out of his sleeping bag in an instant, in sync with two other silhouettes.

Two.

One was missing.

A flashlight clicked on, revealing the shadowed faces of its owner - Roderick – and the second body – Derek.

A quick scan of our camp revealed no extra body.

Lucas was gone.

And the screams that had continuously gone on over their inspection…

Abel recalled the shouts and hollers Lucas made on a daily basis of being Lucas.

They were his.

His eyes rushed to his brother moments before his feet did the same. “Roderick!”

“Abel, stay here with Derek.” As if to leaden his point, Roderick pushed his brother towards the younger boy. “And do not move!”

And without a glance, he moved a cautious stroll away from the camp, immediately becoming engulfed in the encroaching darkness as while as in the screams.

Abel and Derek gripped to each other – their virility abstained in their moment of fear – their eyes glued to the search of their surroundings.

It was too dark.

Abel took a step towards the burnt-out remains of the fire-pit. A plan emerging to provide enough a remote advantage. But stopped when the screaming changed pitch to a morbid howling. A howling that was coming closer.

Derek’s fingers tightened around Abel’s white shirtfront, knuckles blending with the hue, “Abel!” but his eyes lingered, transfixed on the gloom that housed the shrieks. “Abel, it’s coming!”

Abel looked to the spot Roderick had gone to search, mental calculating the distance his brother could have travel in the time since—

A shadow moved to his left.

Rushing towards him!

Screaming that banshee cry!

Abel and Derek reverted its call in terror until their lungs deflated…and the form before them registered past their dread.

Lucas.

Hunched before them in the moon’s pitch, stomach clenched in his fingers, laughter spilling from his lips. “Should have seen the looks on your faces! Fucking priceless!”

“LUCAS!”

Roderick emerged from the brush, like a man on a mission: shoulders set and jaw clenched; as he made towards his prankster friend.

Taking Lucas’s shirt in his fist, Roderick curled him up towards his height. “Think this is funny, Lucas?!”

“Yeah man, I think it’s hilarious.” Lucas retorted, pushing palm against his friend, releasing himself from the white fingers of his aggressor.

As they argued, the cries continued – a delicate echo of Lucas’s prank, shuffling through the trees like a broken record – until finally—

“Goddammit, Lucas!” Roderick stalked towards him until they were finally, again, face to face, “I don’t know what kind of equipment you brought with you.” He steamed, waving at the cycling cries still carrying through the forest, “But turn it off!”

But Lucas’s face was white, his liquid-delight draining as he stared first at Roderick and then into the howling abyss. “Ain’t me, Roderick.” He turned back, “Didn’t bring nothing; it ain’t me! I swear.”

Roderick stood stiff, his lip curling into a snarl, ready to tear into Lucas for lying, but something caught his eye and he paled as while.

“Abel. Come here.” He demanded without explanation.

Abel stood rooted, the cries leadening his feet. “Rod—”

“Abel, get over here now!”

He rushed to his brother’s side.

Wrapping his arm around Abel – something he hadn’t done since Abel was ten – Roderick met the eyes of everyone in the group. “Start packing your things, we’re leaving.”

Nobody moved. It was like the screams were sinking in their heads, cutting off their brains and leaving them—

Derek was first to move, a panicking stride to his sleeping bag, stuffing the whole lot together in three quick movements. He looked up expectedly when his bag was full, almost wishing we would simply drop everything and run. Abel knew it to be true because that was the same thing rounded his own mind.

Finally, all things collected, Abel dared snuck a glance at the spot he had stood when his brother whitened. And felt himself blanch as well.

A yard - even less – from where his feet’s’ indentions stood was a helmet. Cracked and weather-worn, but a helmet just the same. That appeared out of nowhere…during the shrieking.

“Abel?”

He turned to see Derek’s lanky form beside him, eyes wide with mild fear. “It’s just a prank. Let’s get out of here.”

Abel agreed and started towards Lucas and Roderick, pretending not to note the pause in Derek’s pace as he too noticed the helmet or the whimper that escaped his throat when he did.

__

“It didn’t come after the group. It didn’t come…” Derek’s whimpered fear mixed with the banshees around us and combined, became the soundtrack to our long trek.

“It didn’t come after—”

“Derek!” Lucas spun around from the front, fists clenched. “Shut your damn mouth! It’s bad enough I have to listen to this-” He gestures to the screams above “but I’ll be damned if I have to listen to you too!”

“No!” Derek’s charged back, “What’s bad enough is that I had to hear the story, but I didn’t sign up to be in the undocumented movie!” He screamed.

Roderick rushed between them as the fists were raised, with his own hands up to keep them at bay. “Guys! It ain’t the time to fight. We’re almost out. Less than a mile, and those screams’ll be behind us, and you fucks can fight ‘til your hearts’ content. But not now!”

Roderick had always been the group’s negotiator. And you could see how easy it was for him to ease the tension, even at a time like this. Derek’s body relaxed and he stepped back in submission. Lucas snorted back whatever insult he was ready to spew; and with a turn of his back, the fight was over and the journey continued.

With a final glance at both of them, Roderick followed suit.

Derek and Abel brought up the rear.

After minutes of quiet trudging, Derek whispered, “He’s wrong.”

Abel leaned closer to hear his friend’s jumbled tone.

“They’re following us.” He paused before again falling back into his monotone reassurance, “It didn’t…”

Abel returned to his place in line, trying to ignore the howls of agony, but instead found himself listening to them.

Derek was right.

They were following.

___

“It didn’t come after the group. It didn’t come after the group. It –”

Abel breathed a silent thanks that Derek had ended his monotone calling towards the back of Abel’s head. He could see Lucas and Roderick do the same in front of him. He only wished the howls would allow the same amount of peace.

“Man, gotta stop.” Lucas barely managed to catch himself before he collapsed on a tree’s topless trunk. “Just for a second.”

Roderick slumped down next to the older boy. “Just for sec’.” He agreed.

“Yeah, Derek, let’s,” Abel turned towards his friend, “rest while—”

There was no one there.

“Derek?”

Roderick looked up at the fresh panic in his brother’s voice. He regarded the surrounding area as well, when their team’s missing member became apparent. “Derek?”

Soon all their voices melded with those around them. Panic with horror. Living with dead.

“He was right here.” Abel babbled, pointing to the ground feet from him. “Right here.” He emphasized. He rotated a quick survey, “Right fucking here!”

Roderick rose while his brother ranted and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Abel.”

A dozen reiterations of his name finally brought Abel’s mind back towards him. “Abel.” Roderick repeated. “We’ll find him.” He looked back towards Lucas. “But we stay together.”

Lucas nodded in agreement, and hoisted himself up as well.

They searched the yards beyond their resting place. Each probing a different zone but remaining within feet of each other.

Twenty minutes passed without luck, and a disheartened Roderick looked back. “Lucas, you see any—”

The forest stood empty before him.

“Lucas?” Abel whimpered. Not again…

Roderick pulled his brothers towards him. “Stay within reach.” Even as he said it, his grasp tightened. “Don’t let go, Abel.”

Roderick pressed forward, his brother in tow, now directing only for escape. Wanting—hoping to see the field they had parked and the car within it. Ignoring the screams. Ignoring the fact that their friends had –possibly – became a part of them. Just to get away—

Abel scrapped severely against a tree’s chest as his brother unexpectedly curved its corner. He felt Roderick’s fingers jerk from his, his brother’s nail skinning his palm away. “Wait!” He rounded the tree, pulling from the hold it had on his clothes; and blinked slowly.

Gone.

It wasn’t possible.

Roderick had vanished as well.

Abel spun in a slow, deliberate circle, searching for even a remote glimpse of his brother among the dark trunks. He couldn’t be the only one. He wouldn’t. Where…Where? Where?!

“Abel…”

“Roderick!” He shouted both with relief and undernoted fear. He turned again, expecting to see his brother, battered and bloody – perhaps – but alive, but only perceiving nothing but the trees and brush.

“Roderick?”

And then he saw— “Abel.” —In the trees. Something moving.

He stepped towards his brother’s call. “Please, Rod. Come on.” He pleaded. But still all that answered was the call: graveled voice growing louder with each of Abel’s steps; until finally, Abel saw what it was that he had spied between the endless lines of growth.

“Abel.” Bloodied lips called from the gap in the trees. (Roderick…) “Run.”

A face pulled forth (Roderick…), “Abel, run!”

And then he was consumed; his rumbled voice no longer even an echo on the breath of the forest.

____

He ran.

Ran past tree and tree, all of which looked the same. Over streams and puddles he swore he’d crossed before. Pushed through brush, trying his hardest to disregard the wisps of clothing that had been scrapped away in his past passages. Stepping in footprints after footprint that synced with his own feet.

Just in circles.

He continued to run.

Same trees. Same creeks. Same brush. Same dirt. Same track. Same night. Same. Same. Same.

He ran.

And as he ran, he tried to ignore them the most.

Ignore the bodies.

Roderick said there were no bodies!

Pierced on the branches above him like the forest’s own preparation to a fire-pit feast. Their limbs twisted and wrenched; skin engraved so far deep from wounds no human weapon could inflict. Swaying slightly, such ragdolls they were; children’s dolls long discarded.

No!

Don’t look!

Yet his eyes rose of their own decision to glance again at the corpses, which impossibly, still greeted him as they had hundreds of trees before, each and all in the exact position.

Bodies pierced.

Bones broken and extremities tattered to shreds.

No.

Intestines hung around them like Christmas tinsel among the leaves.

Blood painted them all like the final touch to a work of art.

No bodies.

Speckled, pale faces. Useless, torn bodies. Organs: the tree’s ornaments. Mere fabric shreds to hide the fact they were all once human. All in the trees.

All in the trees.

No!

He couldn’t stop his gaze; even when his speed slowed and his feet became rooted in the sludge beneath him, all he could do was gawk. Staring now onto the newest of the decaying: (Lucas...) their bodies fresher and their wounds more gruesome (Derek…), the shredded muscle still pink and their set blood still red (Roderick…). Staring into the pale blind eyes of his comrades, suddenly wishing the color to return. For his friends—

And then he came to their gaping, torn smiles: Jaws dislocated, one (Derek…) missing entirely, and skin flayed from their cheeks; their throats – deep caverns opened wide in an endless howl.

To him, such cries – he knew – came from those impossible caverns, were nothing more than a display, for his senses reaching for them did not passed those of sight. But to whom heard their agony, the orchestra was an eternal harmony among the trees, all coming together to echo in the wind and reach the harsh edges the world fell to, as well as the beast that gave them their voice.

And to their call came the creature, called like a mother to the mew of its babes.

There it is!

Now that its assault had ended with three, the monster stood, still, his chest never rising and its blank face never completely straight on its shoulder – as if its neck too was broken. An unfinished statue due to live its days in the empty view of the trees, never to be finished, never to be seen.

Staring at it now, Abel couldn’t help but recalled the story, and – even if they had never seen it - he could understand the soldiers’ beliefs that the enemy was the cause of the missings’ torture.

It looked like a man. Or rather a rude interpretation: Taller than him, with skin clashing with its creator; limbs too long, jointed here and there along the appendages, yet it stood perfectly straight, suited for business in an outfit make of thick, black vine that clung to his flesh rather than to itself; like the darkness has used us as a sample for its rough sketch, wanting assistance, but not to simply redesign.

Seeing it now, one would easily claim the supernatural, though call for the priests and their holy water and stakes instead, if not for one thing…

Its face.

Or rather, where its face should have been.

There was nothing but the etching and shadows, the deep grooves and indentations that a face should have. No lips, no nostrils, even the ears looks plugged, covered over in pure flesh. And no eyes! As though the darkness could not completely create this creature, but the simply structure of its core.

An intruder stood before Abel, wearing a mask that he knew would never come off…

It moved.

A small twitch.

The entire forest came alive and fell silent at the same time.

The winds became a hurricane through the branches above them, but the leaves refused so much as to rustle in its wake. The trees themselves ached and groaned like the bodies that no longer – to Abel’s dismay – hung in their arms. The ground shook, an earthquake seconds from shattering the very foundation in two, yet the gravel below was still, frozen in an unseen frost.

Then it took a step.

A single, deliberate slide of his foot, so delicate and smooth it almost seemed faked.

The result however, seemed all too real.

A sonic pulse erupted right there in the trees, breaking the impossible counteracting previously felt. The silence soon fell to its contrary. The trees began to shake, epileptic arms waving to the sky; leaves rocking, ripping and abandoning their branches in a last ditch effort to escape. Only to fall to the ground below that shuddered with a magnitude 8.0 quake.

Another step.

Another throb of that invisible force past the trees, cracking their trunks like webs in glassware.

Abel staggering as the push ripped through him, determination as well as fear the only reason for his upright position.

Another step.

Another rhythmic sonic wave.

With each step, the verdures were stripped bare until there branches – thick and thin – were barren, impossibly bleeding red where each leaf had been plucked….endless needle pricks in their ashen skin.

Another step.

The trees burst outward, exploding into gray starburst as each was touched by that imperceptible strength. One after the other until under the black night sky – the moon was gone… – remained only a gray apocalyptic wasteland.

I’m…I’m crazy.

Abel shut his eyes, hands rising to block out the impossible light he could still see.

I’m crazy.

Thisthing can’t be real!

The things it did can’t be real!

We’re still in the forest.

I’m still in the forest.

He squeezed his eyes closed harder.

“It’s not real.”

But all he could imagine was the mental reel of this creature in front of him, inches away, impossibly breathing on his skin, but doing it none-the-less, reaching up with its long fingers; talons closing around his throat, ready to lift him up with his brother—

“It’s not real! It’s not real!”

The wind blew on his cheek and his imagination turned it to those wicked fingers.

And before he could react, his eyes were open and around him—

Everything was normal.

His relief rushed him in a single, shuttered sigh.

And then he saw it too was there. Standing as if nothing had occurred in the time they had met, yards away. Body stiff. Head slightly cocked, as if intrugied.

Triumph filled him anyway. His will was stronger than this creature. He could still get out alive.

“I beat you, you son of a –”

It began again to move.

Arms outstretched, and while he watched, widened, reaching past the trees that guarded him like piranha to a carcass. Coming for him. Stretching. Grabbing for him. Reaching.

He could feel it, like whiskers against his flesh; each tiny follicle at attention as they were shuddered past. Pressed closer and closer to his skin. What was a slight tingle turned to a slight pressure. The pressure soon intensified: the cold, unseen limbs prying-piercing into his skin. The density became agony, and all that was felt was the pain. The wind that brushed his face, nothing more. The mud soaking his feet, what mud? The sweat on his brow, simply the blood being broke from his veins, by the thousands of thin needles injecting themselves in his self. And that is truly what it felt as. In every pore, uncovered or not. Filling his body, diluting his blood with acid that was surely the cause of his pain.

More and more of it, until he was sure, that would be all that was left.

It wasn’t long before he began to scream, though it would take longer for him to realize himself that he was. It continued, that cry of suffering, mingling in: one more in the forest.

Perhaps it was of a will of their own that his arms moved towards his eyes, but as they did they filled him with more terror.

Melting.

They were melting.

It was acid!

His flesh was sliding down like candle wax towards the ground, the muscles and bones below it slowly following suit, turning him…into a ragdoll. Like all that hung around him.

It’s fake!

But the agony dulled his accusation. And all he saw was the sinking of his arms to stumps, and all he felt were the syringes stabbing his pores.

I can’t...I can’t…

The blackness of unconsciousness overtook him, and with it the pain. But in his last few seconds as the pain dulled and his vision subsided, his fear flared and he questioned if he would ever open his eyes again, or if the darkness and its creation were going to be the last things he’d ever know.

_____

It was dawn when Abel awoke, he knew that more from the story than the pale glare reaching though the leaves.

“…Just a prank.”

He turned, hearing Derek’s voice, but saw only the endless curl of the trees over the land.

His head swung in the other direction, hearing (“Abel! Come here!”) Roderick, but again only seeing that simple, powerful display of eternity.

He sat up and –

“Should have seen the looks on your faces!”

Stared ahead into the lit abyss.

He pulled himself to his feet, glancing down to find the cause of his stiff clothing, only to see the caked on brown of dried blood clinging to his front; a quick, panicked examination concluded all had come from his nose (and not hundreds of thousands of needle breaks).

“Just a tale my gramps told me.”

Abel choked back a sob as the voices of his fallen friends continued to come around him, calling and conversing as if they themselves didn’t knew they were dead.

I knew I was crazy.

He took a step—

And that horrible creature took over his mind.

White flesh.

Black vine suit.

Its broken limbs.

Broken…limbs pulled the ragdolls from his memory, hung them there like they were still in the trees.

And thinking of the dead made he recalled his brother.

All he could see was Roderick’s face, slowly being pulled back into the brush, his bloodied lips called out.

Then interlacing with that’s thing’s barren features just above his shoulder, talon fingers digging into his flesh, dragging him back.

“Abel…Run.” Calling repeatedly; then before all, his cry began mixing with that of the dead, all of those who’d fallen to the same creature, before completely falling silent merely to advance a concluding reminiscence.

“And if you’re….unlucky enough, you’ll see the monster that cause ‘um.”

Another sob drowned out into that final recollection; then another step.

Aforementioned thoughts trapped on a cycle looping with each drag of his feet.

Step.

Monster.

Limbs.

Ragdolls.

Roderick.

“Run…Abel…”

“…You’ll see the monster…”

Step.

Over and over again.

And with his mind corrupt, he continued, walking towards an unknown location, merely seeking to escape the woods and the horrors forever trapped inside, as “Ain’t nothing more” whispered above everything else through the trees along with the wind.