Fushigi Yuugi Fan Fiction ❯ The Fearsome Side ❯ Death Throes ( Chapter 2 )

Chapter 2: Death Throes

 

Warning: This next chapter shows gruesome details, pictorial scenes of violence and death. Wimpy people and those with weak stomachs should skip most of this chapter!

 

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The kitchen was warm and comforting to Salome, the smell of lemons and garlic filtered into her nostrils, and the soft glow of low-energy light bulbs greeted her eyesight.

Her mama, Oriel, a red-haired and pleasantly overweight woman in her fifties, was sitting on the kitchen chair next to the brancher oven; her large body slouched over a new book.

“Salut, baby.” The mother greeted affectionately, yet she has not taken her eyes off the book. Like many women of her weight, she too has a reedy voice, as if she is a honeybee trapped in a glass jar.

“Hey mama.” Salome replied smiling, she strode across the wooden floor of the kitchen, and took a peek inside the oven. A simple meal of fried fish sat in the golden rays of the oven; the crystalline ice that once covered them is already gone.

Breaking the newborn silence, Oriel pried, “So, where is your father? Still outside?”

At first her teenage daughter did not reply for a moment, studying the steaming pot of chicken and rice on the cooker.

“He's parking the car in the garage, it will hail tomorrow morning.”

Probably savoring his nasty cigarettes, She thought with horrid distaste. “Take off your jacket, girl.” She exclaimed, and buried her nose in her book. She's already pining for the romantic world of this novel.

Sighing, Salome shook off her red jacket and hung it on the door. Clad in only a pair of jeans and a flower-printed blouse, she began preparing the hot chocolates for tonight's supper.

But her mind wasn't on the food.

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With qualified ease, the middle-aged man pulled down the garage door, shielding the red Ford Ka from the harsh conditions of Norway, for tonight at least.

Bryan leaned against the brick wall of the garage, sucking and exhaling the comforting warm smoke. It had only been recently since his officious wife banned him from smoking in front of their daughters, it was obvious she was just following what everybody else had been doing, the campaign to eliminate these tobaccos sticks, these gateways to lung cancer.

He watched the display of lights play in the windows of the living room, his little nine-year-old daughter Gabrielle, was watching her cartoons in the comfort of the heater and supple sofas, oblivious that she was being watched by the wary eye of her parent.

Watching the fantastical show, he smiled at the innocence displayed by the Smurfs, everything was possible for these kind blue spirits, and there was always a happy and educational ending for them.

 

The cigarette fell to the damp earth, but Bryan was no longer concerned.

His body felt rooted to the ground, he thought he had heard something behind that large wall of red brick.

 

A scratch.

 

A sound of sharp bones raking across the rough exterior, from the inside.

He took a deep breath, and exhaled calmly. He has his own share of experience in finding strays, taking shelter inside every space of the house. Anonymous felines were recently hiding out in the wooden shafts of this building, storing their meals underneath the car or bearing offspring inside the dryer.

He shook his fear out of his head, anyway, if there is a cat inside, he'll have to shoo it away.

Rubbing his cold hands together, he opened the door and stepped inside the frightening darkness.

He felt the hairs of the back of his neck stand up, he had never got over his fear of the darkness, and it was almost pitch black inside.

The garage was always filled with strange smells; he longed to find the right tool to get rid of it, that sickening smell of flesh decaying.

Last week, Salome found a dead cat in one of the boxes, he thought that was the source of the smell. The object is still here, he mused.

His padded fingers fumbled their ways in the darkness, until they grasped what he was looking for, a light switch.

He choked, this time the smell was stronger now, and he faintly heard cautious shuffling, coming closer to his direction.

He instinctively flicked on the switch, and spun around to meet the thing.

And he saw it. His body stood stock-still, paralyzed in fear, his mouth hung open in a silent scream.

The creature was tall, non- and big, he towered over the frightened man. In amazing speed, it clasped its large and hairy hands tightly around his head, pressing hard on his throbbing temples.

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The sound of bone and skin tearing was mercifully quick, echoing across the garage for only a moment. No living thing outside the building couldn't hear the body fall to the concrete floor, except the languorous sounds of a being, continuing the process of tearing the raw meat of its newfound victim.

 

 

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“That is the condition of most of the bodies, Your Excellency. They were torn to pieces without any sign of use of weaponry.”

Chichiri felt numb and hostile. He studied the scrolls that held their crude illustrations, and read the details taken in rough notes around the drawings.

Every victim was feeble. Almost all of them are women and children; while very few are the elders, with only a couple of full-grown male victims in the casualty list.

“The constables claim that the bites on their bodies weren't made by the wolves, since they had long since disappeared months ago, it even seems that all the wild animals were gone. When they brought the horses to collecting the bodies, the horses wouldn't dare come near the surrounding area.” The messenger finally looked up, his young face taut, but the monk could very well see that he was frightened to the core.

“I swear, Heavenly Emperor, there are demons lurking in that place! Take everyone out of there and let it be, lest they will come back with vengeance.” The boy spoke in hushed tones, but his voice quivered as he spoke of what he calls `demons'.

The monk smiled at him reassuringly and nodded, “I wouldn't want my people face these creatures alone, I will send my word that all citizens close to that are must evacuate. In the meantime, I must find more about them in order to exorcise them! Young boy, have the constables found anything about them?”

The messenger sighed and wilted a little, “I am deeply sorry, but all we found are the stone dolls and weapons.”

Chichiri looked at him critically, “Weapons? But you said there were no signs of weaponry usage.” His hands gripped on his throne as he spoke, it feels so strange to talk like this! He considered.

“When they were torn to pieces, Divine Emperor,” The boy reminded, “Their limbs weren't cut off cleanly with a sword or knife. But there were stab wounds and burns on their bodies, mostly on the back, as this diagram shows.” He pointed at the rolls of paper on the emperor's elaborate desk, and Chichiri took a peek at the drawing and showed that he understood.

“May I see the weapons you had found?” He asked. The boy answered positively and bowed in `Kow-Tow' fashion, and walked out towards the grand doors backwards, refusing to turn his back on him, but turning his face down discreetly.

Chichiri began to wonder how Hotohori could live his whole life around such formality, where people veiled their faces with polite and reserved manners.

The boy opened the doors and spoke quietly to the two guards outside, and then all of them came inside, their hands holding carefully sealed wooden boxes.

All of them stopped within ten meters away from the monk, and stood in two straight lines. As they kneeled and bowed, the young messenger called out, “To your Excellency, the weapons from the demons of the destroyed village!”

Two of the guards goose-stepped towards him, and presented four rectangular boxes to him in open hands.

Gingerly, the monk took one of them and pried it open, taking note that as his gaze left the tense guards, they relaxed, whoever said being royal was a privilege?

As he took the top off, a small dagger lies in a nest of soft hay. Like the stone doll he had seen, it was cut in the same crude fashion, as one would cut a jewel.

The dagger was short and stubby, and surprisingly heavy, as if they took a big chunk of rock and transformed it into a weapon.

As his fingers traced the blade's edge, he found that it was in fact, very well made for killing purposes. Especially at the tip, he mused that part was the sharpest of all.

“This dagger is indeed designed for stabbing.” He concluded, “Allow me to see the others.”

And as each weapon he was presented, he began to see how advanced these creatures are in the art of weapon crafting.

And how barbaric they are.

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