HARBINGER
HARBINGER
by R. Michael
A murder of crows spiraled overhead, cawing in the waning light just above the canopy of an aged, twisted forest. Fog rolled in from the northwest, blanketing the underwood save for a single oil lantern that gently swayed. Thomas’ wrinkled hand coiled around the light’s handle, and his two sunken, gray eyes peered through the haze.
The ghoulish man ambled between the trees then gazed westward at the fuchsia splashed horizon. Sighing, Thomas curled the corner of his mouth into a toothy snarl. The wind combed through the branches, tossing his long, wispy hair. He quickened his pace, knowing the lifeforce he craved was nearby.
Five orange orbs emerged from the gloom, orbiting Thomas as the final remnants of daylight gave way to a starless night. How did these spirits lose their consciousness while I retain a portion of mine? Moreover, why are they bound to me? He pondered, hastening to the edge of the wood. Just beyond the thinning trees, a small cluster of homes marked the outskirts of a village. Thomas raised the lantern to his breast and drifted closer, wetting his thin, flaking lips then stopped as a pair of shadows passed.
“Hello, Frank!”
“Hey, George. Is your family well?”
“Yes, the kids are restless, but that’s to be expected,” George laughed.
“Enjoy it while it lasts. They grow quick then you’ll miss it!”
Thomas approached, watching the men chat a bit before they parted ways. Such easy prey. He thought, elated by the sweet fragrance of life that wafted off them. On a whim he chose Frank, and tiptoed toward the wizened man, but another caught his ear.
“I’ll be in soon,” a man’s voice echoed, his heavy footsteps crunching the dry foliage on the ground.
Thomas dimmed his light and lowered it to his side.
“Hello?” the unseen man called into the darkness. “Who’s there?”
The orbs surrounding Thomas dispersed into the settlement. “Go, gorge yourselves,” he purred. A little while later, he heard a sharp gasp. The villager’s fear steadily rose, wafting on the breeze like an enticing morsel.
Thomas crept toward the distressed man who crumbled to the ground, shivering. The villager’s hair had fallen out and woven into the wood pile in front of him. He touched the hapless man’s shoulder. The victim screeched as his skin shriveled and the flesh on his bones crumbled to dust. Thomas took a sharp breath, feeling the life energy merge with his own.
A discordant scream disturbed the night’s tranquility. Thomas whirled around, knowing one of his companion spirits was having its way with a villager. Swishing his gray cloak off to the side, he moved further into the village. His scarred face twisted into a leer, revealing a maw of jagged incisors.
He weaved between homes, arching his head upward, sniffing. The intoxicating fragrance of life filled every breath. An unquenchable lust arose within, but the flame in his lantern flickered. “Time is short,” he uttered, pressing onward.
Stopping at the threshold of a home, he brushed the door with his fingertips. The lifeforce of the people within called to him, but before he could act, he caught the scent of another: a frail man with white hair, clutching a light close to his face. “Is someone there?” the prey’s gravelly voice called, signaling his location to Thomas.
A moment later, the old man collapsed in a puff of ash with Thomas standing over him.
“What did you do to him?” a gruff voice demanded.
Thomas pivoted to see a middle-aged woman with her hair tied in a messy bun. She raised the tip of her rifle, and light coruscated from the end. Thomas staggered backward, remaining otherwise unphased, then meandered toward the woman. He stretched out a long, gnarled hand wrapped in sore-ridden flesh. His intended prey leveled her weapon, hesitating. Her hands trembled, and she stepped back.
Thomas could almost taste her. His every thought was bent on consumption, but before he could indulge, the orbs gathered near him and became opaque. Thomas spat something incomprehensible then hissed. Should I risk it? He reached out, hungry for the life within her, but the orbs whirled around him faster. Death will come for me if I stay any longer. He bounded back toward the cover of the woodland. Two shots rang out behind him, but neither hit their mark. The clouds parted, and a crescent moon illuminated the heavens, peeking just above the forest crown. The orbs flickered, and the crows reemerged, filling the air with their chatter hailing the witching hour was at hand.
Charcoal spots formed on the backs of his hands, and his joints stiffened. I stayed out too long and didn’t feed enough. Thomas ran faster, despite his body’s protests, until he returned to the heart of the forest. Sighing, he looked over his shoulder, thinking back on a different life when hunger wasn’t all consuming, when he was free to roam more than a few hours a year. The memories were vague, almost dream-like, and while he could recall a time when he enjoyed life, but now he fed on its essence.
He placed his hand against the side of a wide maple that opened like a narrow, knobby maw. As he stepped inside, the lantern flickered out. Thomas stole one last look behind him before the woody prison closed, wondering if his next wakening would be as a ravenous, mindless orb.
Fiction © Copyright R. Michael
Image by NachtmahrTV from Pixabay
