Chapter 3
Eyes a deep purple or perhaps black – the evening’s gloom had a wicked way of playing tricks on the eyes – the size of mangos glared down at a paralyzed Jonathan. He shook, make no mistake, but any form of controlled movement was now completely beyond the realm of possibility. His bladder had betrayed him, he hadn’t noticed. Jonathan was glued to hard rock: still aching with pain and now looking at what seemed to be the devil, directly in the face. A wide, opened mouth showcased two rows of razor sharp teeth on the creature’s lower mandible, while larger, but equally sharp flesh eaters lined the upper region of the monster’s jawbone; a single row of hot white knives. Thick strands of saliva dripped from the beast’s mouth, pouring through every fang separated by sizable gap. They almost glisten. The creature’s muzzle could best be compared to that of a horse, a dying, deformed horse: unnaturally lengthened… morbidly stretched in nature. The alcoves of its cheeks (which sat high on its disproportioned head) sunk deeply in the flesh, showing what looked to be an early case of tissue decay. Dark black holes festered in its skin, and a bright green fluid reflected the moonlight, trickling from the open sores. Oddly enough, the creature seemed completely devoid of an actual nose: deprived of one of its senses (if that was indeed the case), the monster still functioned with astounding efficiency. It had tracked him, with ease, after all.
Jonathon allowed the tears to spill from the corners of his eyes. The time to be macho was over. He completely relented, succumbing to the terror before him. He was engaged in a staring contest with the devil himself, and there was no chance of a victory for the broken man. The beast loomed over him, stooping to get a good look at its prey, it’s face just six inches removed from Jonathan’s, it pivoted its head back and forth, as though in deep thought. A deeply personal surveillance that seemed to melt into the soul.
It began to change. The ruined flesh of the snout undulated, as though worms took up residence just beneath the skins surface. I’m hallucinating! Bones cracked and shifted within the monster’s face: lower jawbone cracking, twisting in a strange grimace that represented victory rather than uncertainty. The eyes swelled, bulged, and then shrunk, falling deeper into their sockets. Cheekbones ground in their orbits and the creatures head took on an almost human formation for one brief moment, before another hideous adjustment lead to an impossible stretching of the mandibles. The teeth seemed to lengthen.
There was a sound in the distance: men… horses. Jonathon’s hope swelled, and he almost smiled in both defiance and triumph. The monster retreated, a single stride, mug still transforming in continuously horrifying adjustments: it seemed incapable of deciding what mask to wear, though each modification offered heightened fear. Chatter filled the air, and Jonathan knew without a doubt that that was Jeremiah, and yes, that certainly sounded like Doc Turner in tow. The group had made it. He’d spend the rest of his life telling the story, and make no mistake: he’d revel in every moment and seize every opportunity to sensationalize the tale. An unidentifiable urge to burst out in laughter swept over Jonathan. He kept his mouth tightly sealed, jaws clenched in a discomforting fight to not betray sense, and what slight chance of survival he had.
The creature’s rear legs buckled in two places, it sauntered down shrinking into a compact ball of thick skin and muscle - a painfully obvious predatory stance - before pouncing with jarring speed, spreading its mouth wide (still the jaws stretched and twisted) as a man and latching onto Jonathan’s mangled leg. The beast yanked in a violent jerk that again sent bolts of white lightening bouncing through Jonathan’s vision. More bones snapped with the force, a small explosion of sound cracked the evening’s mild din as Jonathan’s screams of agony offered servitude as a dreadful echo. In a single motion he was heaved upward, his body separating from the cold rock in which he’d felt bonded to just moments ago. The monster leapt, a bellowing mess of a man trapped in its jaws, and even in the frantic exchange, floating above ground wobbling on the brink of unconsciousness, Jonathan could see the monster’s spine ripple – What in the name of the devil is that? - pressing hard against its flesh before sinking deep beneath its skin, completely invisible to the naked eye. The descendant darkness of the night turned pitch black as consciousness betrayed Jonathan.
The Belmont Brothers: Binds - Part 1 Page 3
