Rakasa

by Kyle Warner

  I put my back up against a wide tree and listen to the wind caressing the branches.

  It’s then that I notice that, for the first time, the birds have not followed me. They remain back at the beach, too fearful to enter the jungle after dark.

  I have made a horrible mistake.

  The foliage behind me moves against the wind and I know I have been cut off from the beach. I’m not alone…

  So I run.

  The sword is heavy and it clangs on trees that I pass. I swing it hard, embedding it in a tree’s bark, and abandon it.

  I dodge trees, branches, and vines, remembering the way to the hill.

  The hill had a hole of its own, I know, but only one. In the jungle I am surrounded by holes. I have to take my chances as I rush to get out of the trees.

  The world spins out of control as I trip and fall forward, hitting my jaw hard on a rock. I spend a stupid moment checking for loose teeth before I realize how exposed I am.

  My left foot hangs precariously over the blackness of a hole in the jungle floor.

  Something in the deep dark is moving, growling, reaching up towards me.

  I pull my foot clear from the hole and pick myself up. The flintlock pistol shakes in my hand as I run for the hill.

  I break the tree line and hit the dirt that leads up the steep incline.

  Behind me the jungle is alive with activity and I know the thing—things?—are close.

  I scramble up the hill, breaking off fingernails on the rock and dirt in a mad dash to ascend.

  But finally I reach the top and I feel safe, if only for a moment. With the gun aimed at the hole atop the mound, I stare back down the hill.

  The holes are everywhere and shadows appear and disappear out of them in a flurry of motion.

  One shadow stops before going down a hole. It turns towards me and the moonlight manages to catch it just so.

  Walking on all fours, the thing is covered in patchy white hair and brown freckles. Its eyes glint in the moon’s glow and its jaws open wide, revealing long, jagged teeth.

  It’s a monster.

  The thing growls, then disappears down a hole and the entire jungle’s activity seems to stop all at once.

  I dig up a word from deep inside. Didn’t know what it meant then and maybe I still don’t, but the word hits the target in my brain and I think it describes what I’m looking at pretty well.

  “Rakasa.”

  8.

  There must be hundreds of the goddamn things. They killed what’s-his-name and they mean to kill me. Well, fuck that, I got other plans.

  The sword is stuck into the side of a tree and there’s no getting it back without braving the jungle. The jungle is their territory, the birds have taught me that much. Short of going down one of them holes, stepping foot into the jungle is just about the worst thing I could do at this point.

  Still have my pistol—only one shot, but it’s something.

  My plan’s simple: kill the biggest fucking Rakasa creature I can find and teach the others a thing or two about who’s the boss around these parts.

  If that doesn’t work, I’ll get back in that lifeboat and take my chances with the waves and sharks. I’d take a shark over these things any day, because a shark’s just a hungry animal.

  These things aren’t animals, not really. I know that somehow. They’re monsters through and through. A shark can’t help being ugly and scary but these things seem to take pride in that fact.

  It’s the way that one stood there and looked up at me, like he knew that if I wasn’t dehydrated then I’d be pissing my pants.

  Proud son-of-a-bitch-monster must die.

  I want to call them Rakasa because it’s better than calling them monsters.

  Monsters are for children afraid of shadows. Monsters are for unintelligent types who prefer to believe in superstition instead of basic human cruelty. Monsters are for stupid sailors who want to think that something hideous lurks beneath the waves, as compared to facing their own ineptitude in the company of Lady Death and her kissing cousin Fear.

  Monsters aren’t real.

  But the Rakasa sure as hell are.

  The sun is rising. I look for jagged rocks on the hill. Anything heavy. Anything sharp. I stuff the rocks in my pockets. It’ll slow me down and I dare not go for a swim, but I need extra weapons when the pistol’s empty and useless.

  As I ready myself for war, my mind gets away from me and starts thinking about the holes the Rakasa nest in.

  My thought process goes somewhere I don’t like, but once it’s there, there ain’t no calling it back.

  What if those holes lead down to Hell itself? What if this island, isolated and impossibly lost as it is in the ocean so vast, is the gateway to the underworld?

  What if the Rakasa are the gatekeepers?

  Stupid thoughts. I know that. It’s so not like me, turning to superstition when faced with reality. But as I look at the closest hole I can’t help but marvel at how deep it goes, how dark it gets.

  There’s a smell, too.

  I know it’s the smell of mold and stagnant water mixed with what must be animal waste, but I think I detect a bit of sulfur, too.

  Fucking ridiculous, I know.

  Pebbles tumble and fall into one of the holes, followed by splashes down below.

  They are watching me.

  I grab the gun, polished by spit and reflective in the hot sun. It has to look good because I certainly don’t. Gun in hand, I jog down the hill.

  I walk up to the hole that the proud Rakasa had disappeared down the previous night and let them know I’m ready and waiting.

  “Hurry up about it, you ugly bastards.”

  A deep growl rises from the dark abyss. The hairs on my arms betray me, standing on end in a sign of surrender.

  I have a good poker face. I swallow my terror and look every inch like the villain that I am, but my guts are in a tumble.

  I’m horrified as I lean over the hole and vomit down into the depths. I almost laugh as I wipe the bile from my lips.

  “I hope you got that right in the face, mate.”

  There’s no response. No visible action. No growling retort.

  Maybe they’re scared of sunlight. They were so brazen in the dark but in the day they hide in their little holes like scared kittens.

  Or maybe they’re scared of me.

  I smile and unzip my trousers, then piss down into their sleeping quarters.

  “Just marking my territory, lads!”

  Rocks tumble down the hill at my back.

  I can sense something moving up on me from behind.

  I’m so fucking stupid…

  I don’t dare turn. Pants undone, dick in the breeze, and piss dribbling down into the dark, I am hardly in the position to face my foe.

  My trigger finger’s trembling as I fix my pants and put myself in order.

  The growl at my back is low and quiet. The footsteps are even quieter, barely disturbing the cracked earth.

  I see three options.

  First: turn and face the bastard with gun raised at the ready. Hopefully I can put a bullet in its brain before it puts its teeth in me.

  My second option: I could dive into the dark hole and wait for it to come down after me. I’m certain I can kill my pursuer but I’m less certain about fending off whatever else awaits me below.

  My final choice is to run for the lifeboat and get into the ocean. Doing so means passing through the jungle, though, so…

  The ground shifts directly behind me.

  There’s a hot breath on the back of my arms.

  I don’t think. I just run.

  The Rakasa roars so loud that I think I feel blood in my ears.

  The leaves slap my face, the branches tear at my clothes, and all the while I can hear the hairy beast right behind me.

  Then I see it: the sword. Right where I left it, sticking out of a tree.

  Gotta time this just right. Run fast, grab the sword, spin around and s
hove it right into the fucker’s open mouth. Let the creature impale itself.

  My sweaty hand grabs the sword and yanks it free. I spin, sword pointed outwards, and go down onto one knee to brace for impact.

  There’s nothing there. The jungle is silent and empty.

  I don’t trust it, though, so I sheathe the sword and keep running for the beach.

  To hell with this island. I want—I need—to get away.

  I hit the beach sand and the birds welcome my arrival with a flurry of feathers and happy chirps. They sound like they’re laughing.

  Takes me a moment to realize what they’re laughing about.

  The boat is on the sand but it’s torn to pieces. It’s only a wooden skeleton of what it used to be. I walk closer to see if it can be fixed.

  Every piece of dislodged wood has been chewed up beyond repair. A layer of slobber covers everything.

  There’s a growl in the jungle and then another.

  And then another. And another…

  The birds silence themselves as the jungle comes alive with the sounds of Hell.

  Pretty sure I’m gonna die here.

  But not yet.

  I unsheathe the sword, cock the pistol, and step into the jungle to greet my demons.

  9.

  I’m standing on the edge of a hole when I get a vision.

  I remember what Mary looks like now. I can recall her blue eyes, her golden hair, and the little black dot on her left cheek that she calls ‘my dark star.’ When she smiles she has dimples. When she winks she is seductive. And when I kiss her, I know that she is a goddess and does not belong on this earth with all these mere mortals.

  I tremble over the hole and curse my memory for granting me these visions.

  Now I cannot go any farther, now I cannot act recklessly, for now I remember too clearly what it is I stand to lose.

  I never subscribed to the notion that love makes a man soft, but I get it now. It’s not the woman’s fault or even the man’s, it’s their union. Being one part of a two-part deal means you owe each other something—fidelity, honesty, and, if you can help it, a safe return home.

  What is the purpose of living if I can’t ever see her face again?

  My knees wobble and I fall against a tree to steady myself. Fear wrecks me, clouds my vision, makes me stupid and defenseless.

  I weep like a wee boy who’s lost in the dark. I want to get away—get so very, very far away—but it’s impossible. Nothing about this island makes sense. Nothing about my situation is any kind of fair. It’s fucked, is what it is, and I’m fucked with it.

  I barely notice the gentle touch of hair brushing against my ankle. Something wraps tightly around my foot.

  My feet are yanked out from underneath me and I fall flat on my ass.

  The hairy arm of a Rakasa is protruding from the hole, its claws tightly gripping my foot.

  I go for the pistol and take aim, but it’s pulling me again and I fumble the gun.

  I dig my hands into the dirt as I’m dragged screaming towards the pitch black abyss. My last sight is that of the flintlock pistol propped up on a rock like it’s on display, then the black envelops me and I’m falling.

  I stop screaming when I figure out that there’s no use to it. I let the creature know I’m calm, I’m cool, and I’m the baddest motherfucker they ever took home for dinner.

  There’s nothing to see until we hit bottom.

  The floor beneath me is wet and soggy like a swamp. I try to stand and the ground clings to me. It’s in that moment that I realize the animal has released me and I’m alone in the dark.

  Well, not quite alone. Not alone at all, in fact. I can’t see them, but I know they’re there. Everywhere. I’m surrounded by the beasts who call the underground their home.

  So, why don’t they attack?

  I unsheathe my sword and swing it back and forth in the dark, letting them know that if they want a nibble then it’s gonna cost ’em.

  I stumble forward through the muck. Still can’t see shit, but it makes no sense to stay where the thing left me like some obedient dog.

  It smells like the toilets and I worry that’s what I’m trudging through.

  My left leg runs into something hard. I stab my sword at it, but it’s nothing living. Still, it’s in my way, so I bend down to pick it up.

  It’s hard like rock but there’s something soft clinging to it. I run my hands up and down its length.

  It’s a bone… a leg bone… from a human being.

  I drop it and it splashes in the foul shit at my feet, setting off a chorus of growls and hisses. The sound comes from every possible direction. They’re all around me.

  Their growls stop sounding threatening and start sounding more like laughter.

  They’re laughing because they know that I’m slowly figuring out that the leg once belonged to David. They’re laughing because they know how much that fucks with my head.

  They’re laughing because they’re evil.

  Hyenas laugh but an animal trader I know claims they’re little different than wolves or big, hunchback dogs. Hyenas aren’t evil, they’re just born ugly and entrusted with a sense of humor about things.

  But these jesters set me up for a joke with one hell of a stinger and now they’re yucking it up. There’s nothing natural about this.

  Hair brushes against my left elbow. I pivot and stab the sword into the black but it connects with nothing.

  Hot breath passes over the back of my neck. I lunge and my blade only stabs into the wall.

  They’re growling and hissing louder than before. I try to count the animal voices and I think I’m hearing at least a dozen of them at once.

  I take a step forward and bump into a wall covered with hair. I’ve walked right into one of them.

  It stands its ground. I can’t tell if it’s still on all fours or if its reared up onto its back legs, but I feel its breath on my chest. When it breathes out, warm spittle stains my shirt.

  The rough, clawed hand swats my sword from out my grasp and I tremble before the beast in the cold darkness.

  Its teeth are inches from my throat.

  My bladder goes. The animal sniffs the air as my urine mingles with the blood and shit on the cavern floor.

  It responds by pissing on me in return. The steaming urine soaks my stomach and pants.

  I almost want to tell the thing to just kill me and be quick about it. I hurry things along by closing my hand into a fist and delivering a punch to the Rakasa’s face.

  I can’t see anything, so I don’t know how the bastard took it, but I like to think he was surprised. My fist connected with hairy flesh and wet teeth, so I’m sure he felt it.

  The Rakasa splashes in the muck and comes up huffing.

  I roll to wear my sword has fallen. I’m not lucky enough to find the handle, so instead I grasp it by the blade and pray that I’m pointing the pointy end back at my attacker.

  The Rakasa roars and I roar back.

  It leaps on top of me and I fall back into the mud.

  Its claws and teeth sink into me, but I’m not pissing myself in fear anymore. There doesn’t seem to be a point to fear when you know you’re going to die.

  I stab the blade into the beast’s chest. It wails in pain. I stab it again and again. Blood and intestine spill out from its ripped belly.

  I’m practically bathing in the creature’s blood before it finally stops whimpering and its legs stop kicking.

  I toss the dead Rakasa off me and stand up. I shout nonsense at the shadows and the grieving creatures howl back at me like sad puppies.

  I’ll give them something to be sad about.

  My right hand’s badly cut from holding the blade, so I toss the sword over to my left and start cutting.

  I bring down the sword again and again on the Rakasa’s neck. I’m dimly aware that I’m screaming as I do it. The predator’s head falls free from its shoulders with one final thwack.

  I grab the Rakasa’s head by t
he hair behind its ears and hold it up like a trophy.

  “Let that be a lesson to all you uglies skulking around in the dark! You mess with me at your own fucking peril!”

  It takes me a while to start breathing normal again. The adrenaline of the kill is wearing off. By the time the Rakasa’s head starts feeling heavy in my hand I come to realize that the caverns have gone eerily silent.

  I’m alone.

  10.

  I aimlessly wander the darkness, walking into walls and tripping in the muck.

  The creatures make noises, but they’re far off, like they’re watching from a safe distance.

  I killed their alpha male. They respect me now. Maybe they even fear me. I carry his head under my arm lest they forget what I am capable of.

  The thing’s tongue lolls out of its mouth and it’s almost like the damn thing is licking my hand. In the pitch black, my mind gets lost, and I think I’m carrying the head of a decapitated dog. Makes me sick and I almost drop the thing.

  I’m thirsty and I’m not thinking straight. I know what it is that I killed and there was nothing lovable about it. Quite the opposite.

  There’s light up ahead and I double-time it through the sludge.

  I stand beneath the light. It’s one of the holes. There are trees and blue skies above me. I can almost cry.

  Something doesn’t make sense, now that I think about it. When I was up top, I saw the holes everywhere. How come this is the first hole I’ve seen from down below?

  I tell myself that it doesn’t matter, that it’s a question best answered at a later time, but the puzzle bothers me.

  I’m exposed in the light, so I unsheathe my sword and aim it towards the shadows. I’ve walked into a spotlight. I’ve walked into a trap.

  But that doesn’t make sense either. I think it goes without saying that these things can probably see pretty well in the darkness. Why would they need me to step into the light?

  Dirt falls on my shoulder and a shadow looms over me.

  The silhouette of a Rakasa stands at the edge of the hole above. Its head and shoulders nearly block out the sun. If it was joined by other Rakasa they could have totally eclipsed the light. I would have walked below the hole and never known it was there. They’re blocking the holes with their bodies.