Angel

This is the beginning of a small town's terror, a prologue if you like, consisting of a series of slightly interconnected short stories when the "Angel" rose up from Hell.

 

          Along the wide arc of the dirt road as it turned around the woods, just before the stretch that led to the old Gardener's gas station, the boy who had been riding his bike from his friends house out on Mayberry road, stood staring at the over-grown ditch.

          It couldn't be real, he thought. The smell rose up in clouds, of putrid meat set out in the mid-day sun to rot, of something dead like the rat that had crawled up under the sink one day. He remembered his dad had to fish it out, grabbing it by it's tail with his gloved hands and flinging it in the trash. He saw it's head had puffed up, it's enlarged and lifeless eyes staring at nothing, it's swollen tongue lulled out of it's mouth and it's body, caught in between the clamp of the trap had forced most of it's internal organs upward and strings of meat hung like shoestrings out of it's neck.

          What he saw down in the ditch was kind of like that. Only bigger.

          Eric looked back at his bike. It lie in the clay shoulder of the road where he had thrown it aside. It would be okay, he thought. A glint of metal had caught his eye, and he bent over to pick it up. It was about as big as a railroad tie and as sharp as one of those razors the barber used when he went to get his hair trimmed up. He figured it was something that had fallen off of a car that had either broken down or simply shed the metal passing by like a rattle-snake shedding old skin. Eric turned it over in his hand, careful not to let the edge of the metal cut him. He did not want to let it go. There was a weight to it, a radiant power that flung itself outward and crawled along his arm and he himself felt the power coursing through him.

          He shook his head, “Piece of junk,” and threw the metal into the thick brush that lined the one side of the ditch. It continued to glint in the sunlight, enticing, almost calling for him to pick it up again.

          Something moved.

          Eric caught the slightest movement in the corner of his eye. It had rustled the sprawling weeds and a black snake slid out from under a rock and deeper into the woods.

          It was nothing, he told himself. He was only twelve, going on thirteen, but his sense of danger and his somehow elegant maturity that was transcendent of most kids his age, led him to think rationally about things. It was just the stupid snake, or a frog, or some other little thing munching on what was most definitely a dead dear, or antelope.

         Or a bear. It kind of had the shape of a man but was covered in dirty fur that hung loosely off of it's skeleton like a blanket strewn casually over it's body.

         There were no bears on this side of the country, or antelope, or even wolves big enough for what lie dead in the ditch to constitute any of those things. Yet, it was all of those things, and Eric grew horrified not at the gruesome scene, but at his own ignorance. It's head was like a deer, it's mouth hung open, showing two rows of blackened teeth, each one pointed and as long as his index finger. It's eyes were like paper cut-outs, black holes and something moved around inside each of those shadowy orifices behind the veil of darkness. The short fur continued smoothly to the neck, where it split apart, like a blade had cut it open, revealing thick red meat and bands of pink tissue like ribbon tied around the pieces of white bone that jutted forward. It crawled with little white worms, maggots that gushed and squirmed wetly underneath the flaps of loose skin and fell in clumps onto the ground.

        Eric felt that he wouldn't be able to stop looking at the thing. Like the piece of metal that still glinted enticingly amidst the tall grass, it mesmerized him, it beckoned. Everything was quiet, as if a hushed silence had filled the little bend in the road and the woods where all the birds and insects stopped to see what happened next. Because they knew, what the little boy didn't, that the angel had come, and the angel must feed.

        It moved again. Shuffling against the sand like a fish flailing about for a few seconds and then stopping.

        It was the animal, or whatever it was, Eric realized. Cold terror unlike anything he had ever felt rushed through him like he had been suddenly plunged into a pool that was full of ice. His head twitched to his bike, but he was caught in the snare already, and some distant part of him, the part that was not trying frantically to find a way out of the situation knew that it was too late.

        It would find me. It would crawl up under my bed and get my while I sleep.

        The thing shuffled again, this time more forcefully, bending it's body in the boy's direction. He could now see the legs that were splayed on either side of the beast, long talons peeled out from the putrid sleeves that now wriggled and tapped the ground like a woman tapping impatiently on a counter-top. It's back was hunched upward, where yellowed bone stuck up along it's protruding spine which were hard knots of bone and some blackish liquid that wrapped around until it ended in a mess of blood and trails of intestine.

        Eric thought of the rat, and how the image had stuck with him for so long. It horrified him to see that little thing mutilated by so menial of a trap. He was the rat this time.

        Finally he mustered up the strength to turn around but his foot caught a root that jutted out of the clay and he fell. He scraped wildly at the sand as he went down into the ditch. He tumbled and flipped until he lay on his back, dust, speckled with hundreds of black flies covered the sky like a thick congealed substance that separated the world he had left behind and the world where him and the monster beside him were the only two.

        Tears welled up in his eyes and he could barely see the thing moving, sliding toward him. He could now hear the low humming of the flies like Buddhist monks praying in monasteries encompassing everything and for a moment he thought the sound was coming from the creature itself, from out of it's slack jaw that opened and closed as the thing lurched forward.

        It slid as if being pulled by invisible strings; the mats of skin dragging the ground; the bone sticking out of the chunks of sinewy muscle that pulsated and throbbed with little black and white insects chewing on it's supposedly deceased body.

        Hundreds of flies spilled out of it's mouth and out of the openings in it's back, as if it vomited black smoke. Eric noticed the silvery wings and red oracular eyes as they issued forth and upward, engulfing his body.

        He could not peel his gaze away from the thing's eyes. Those black, hollow sockets, lifeless, yet somehow he could see something moving deep inside, something flailing madly about in the darkness. It was horrifyingly wonderful and Eric's lips turned upward in a grin.

        It likes them to smile, the thing said, it's voice moving along with the sound of the hordes of flies around them, forming a sort of barrier that blotted out the sun.

        As they die … It likes them to smile … yes … go ahead.

He smiled, his mouth being pulled until the pain was so great that little spots of red danced across his vision.

        Those eyes, Eric thought, as the thing slid over top of him. He could smell the rotting flesh and the warmth of it's body as it covered him. He could hear flies buzzing all around and the teeth gnashing about somewhere in the darkness.

        Those eyes. Oh God, what is this. It hurts. Who are you?

        It is the Angel. I come to feed.

        Then there was only silence.

Author's Note

Please give a good (harshly honest) review.

Reviews

[Beautiful_Nightmere]

This is good(: I love it(: I think you do a GREAT job and describing things but i think that it should go on somehow. Because the way you left it "Then there was only silence" leave me wondering and wanting to read more! But good job i really like it :)

[Rouillie Wilkerson]

Wow, that was intense and with a steady suspense as I struggled to make sense of the evil in the pit threatening this child - chilling! On the lower end, I think it was a bit wordy in the sense that you don't seem to trust the reader to get it. For instance, the sentence, "He was the rat this time." I got that at sentence end prior to your pointing it out. Consequently, I felt a bit snubbed by it. Screw ratings - and keep writing. Overall, I enjoyed this piece. ^^

[:D Ty :D]

Very well writen I gave me gooses bumps just reading it

[J.L Hunter]

Thank you. That's what it was for... hah

[JGIII]

I hate horror stories. I spend too much time complaining about the stupidity of the characters that lead to their deaths. But I love this story. I like the graphic imagery especially the repeated image of the bloated rat.

Fact Check: It’s nearly impossible to find anywhere in the United States that doesn’t have bears. Black bears especially love the woods so you may want to re-examine why Eric doesn’t think the carcass could be a bear. You could say simply that he’d never seen a bear in this area and convey the same idea while remaining accurate.

Grammar etc.: He remembered his dad had to fish it out – I think saying fishing rather than had to fish would make this sentence less cumbersome.
It lie in the clay shoulder of the road where he had thrown it aside. – this is the wrong tense of this verb for this sentence. lay on would be a better choice here.
A glint of metal had caught his eye, and he bent over to pick it up. – you can eliminate had
He figured it was something that had fallen off of a car that had either broken down or simply shed the metal passing by like a rattle-snake shedding old skin. – cumbersome and rattlesnake is not a compound word. I hate rewriting other people’s stuff but just to illustrate my point you could try something like: He figured it had either fallen off of a broken down car or simply been lost in passing like a rattlesnake shedding old skin.
He was only twelve, going on thirteen, but his sense of danger and his somehow elegant maturity that was transcendent of most kids his age, led him to think rationally about things. – I’m not sure that sense of danger goes with the rest of this sentence.
most definitely a dead dear – drop most and I think you mean deer
lie dead in the ditch – lay
for a moment he thought the sound was coming from the creature itself, from out of it's slack jaw that opened and closed as the thing lurched forward.
Hundreds of flies spilled out of it's mouth and out of the openings in it's back, as if it vomited black smoke. – it sounds like the sound was coming out of its mouth so I think you could probably lose the for a moment he thought.
I like the longer sentences for this story. It accomplishes a slow buildup like in the Hitchcock movies. As you get closer to Eric’s death though I suggest making increasingly frequent use of short sentences, even at risk of becoming choppy to mirror his growing anxiety.
You’ve got me hooked so send me the next chapter to read!

[J.L Hunter]

Wow. I've got some work to do in my second draft for this piece. Everything you said was spot on, and again I thank you for going into such depth in giving suggestions. I usually write at 4 a.m or at around 10 pm before I go to bed and when I get started on an idea I cannot stop like a motor that has built up and built up and has to slow down over time. I wrote this in one sitting, but i've been trying to get myself to start spacing out my writing periods so that I'll get in about one story per week. I want to learn more about how to make my craft better, since i'll start writing my novella "From Hell to New Mexico" very soon, which I intend on self-publishing later next year.

[JGIII]

I like the novella title already. I'm about to PM you my email address. Want to discuss self publishing with you.