Sunday Pilots 3 - In Desolation [1/1] – A horror story saga (Patreon)

In Desolation is a story idea about mankind’s struggle against one and only one kind of monster in a world that is already plain and desolate. It would follow the viewpoints of several protagonists all encountering what you will meet the first time below. 

What was that thing?

The grey caves were supposed to be empty, they had always been empty. Just mankind, it’s kettle and the mushrooms they both ate. That was all that existed in this desolate world. All that was supposed to exist. Nothing else had ever shown itself. There should have been no danger in descending into the caves, there had been no danger, no matter how deep he had gone before.

How deep was he now?

He had taken rations for three days. He had found a new shortcut. He had slept once. Perhaps he was deeper than ever before. Perhaps this was something that been waiting for his arrival at this level.

Still, the question remained, what was that thing?

This skinless beast made of muscle fibre and exposed bones. This four-legged monstrosity, with its thin limbs. This sickening display of life turned wrong and ruthless, the terror of its mere existence carving itself into his drumming heartbeats. Fight or flight? All forgotten, there was only freeze.

Every step it took was so silent, even his own breathing felt like it would drown out that noise, so he withheld it. He hated his heart for pumping louder in his ears than the claws of the beast did on the stone floor. Tap, tap, how could something of that immense size be this quiet? How could it not make any scratching sound with those bone plated fingers?

He kept being frozen in fear, pressed against the wall in the near absolute darkness. What little light existed came from the mushrooms hanging from the walls. Not even that familiar view was calming.

He held his breath. Held it in, held it in so deep that nothing could move. He hadn’t taken fresh air in almost five minutes and everything in him was desperate for relief. His heart felt like it was going to burst like a thin bottle with too much internal pressure. Yet, every part of him capable of being afraid instead repressed the urge. This thing was more dangerous than anything but death itself. What was the feeling of his screaming lungs against the anticipation of a cleaved chest? Of spilled guts? Of those hateful eyes delighting in his pain as it ripped him apart?

Had it seen him or was it perhaps blind from the eons it kept in darkness? Did it see more than him instead? Why was it just slowly trotting after his steps?

It had the rough shape of a horse, but its legs ended in three fingers and a thumb instead. It could grab, it could tear, without a doubt it could tear. Limb from limb. He could practically feel it already; those claws digging into his muscly arms like they were butter, his shoulder being strained and the bone finally being ripped out of its socket. The bleeding arm then being guided to the beast’s mouth. To those teeth. Teeth, capable of ripping flesh or grind stones. Those teeth that came ever close as the bone plated snout of its elongated head kept travelling over the floor towards him. 

They chattered and grinded against each other. The second sound the beast had made since the one allowing the man to spot it. The beast’s snout met with the bag of rations he had been carrying. If it hadn’t been onto his scent before, it was now. It definitely was now, ripping and chewing the leather. Raising its head. Raising its head towards him and watching. Mockingly, blindly, randomly, purposefully, hatefully, he didn’t know, his guts and lungs and heart and feet and eyes they all scream for him to act, get somewhere where he could throw up in disgust, breathe in relief, life in peace, run further, further away and look at something that didn’t cause him to feel all of this. 

Away! Just get away! Just away! It all screamed and screamed at him. 

Where could he run? This thing was blockading the way he came from, had suddenly been behind him when he turned around. Was it always tracking him? How long had he missed it? Had it perhaps been there his whole life, following him through the caves? Every time he descended, it had been there. Had it? It was so silent.

Could it hear? Were those giant antlers on its head just that or hardened ears? Its maw opened wide, unhinged at the jaw, bone plates and teeth only connected through the skinless muscles. His whole bag got scooped up and swallowed in one bite. 

The sound of glassy flasks colliding echoed through the caves, the grey, desolate caves, then vanished like a kid’s pained screams behind a closed door. The lightless caves, those he could only see in because of the alchemist’s miracles. In the pitch darkness it came closer. The lack of light growing more focused around it, his vision became narrower by the moment. The potions effect was fading. Soon he would be blind. There was no choice now, there never had been a choice. The illusion of one was gone now as well. There was only desperation – no hope but the thing being disinterest in chasing him.

He took a deep breath and ran. Ran even deeper into the caves. There would be another way up. Somewhere, there had to be. Being lost down here without rations didn’t matter. Getting away from that thing, whatever it was, that was all that mattered. He didn’t look back to check if it followed him. There was no time for that. There were only his feet, meeting the ground. Right – Left – Right – Left, each time they gracelessly caused a sound to echo through the caves. Even a sheep could have tracked him. Right – Left – Right – Left – Ri-

The ground slipped under his feet. He fell. Tumbled over the wet floor. Tumbled deeper into the caves. It was humid all around, even more so than usual. A disgustingly sweet smell filled his strained lungs. 

Finally, he hit something soft, something that cushioned his descend and made him stop. A wet squelching sound accompanied his slow. The world whirled for a few more moments, he didn’t take the time for it to stop. Looking around, his head flew from left to right. He found the direction he must have come from, the thing was there but it didn’t run, as if it wasn’t even interested in him. It just slowly strutted in his direction. The flesh that peeked out between skull and teeth looked like it was contorted in a grin.

A drop of wetness landed on the man, sunk into his clothes and ached on his skin. Stung, burned, painfully dissolved the flesh where it hit him. It was digesting him. The world slowly stopped swirling, just as slowly he looked in detail at his surroundings, so shallowly watched at in greater fear of the beast.

More drops of acidic wetness landed on his skin, from mouth’s of small elongated skulls attached to upper bodies that grew out of the walls. What were they? A hellish mixture between a humanoid and a horse like torso. Muscles thinly stretching over ribcages. Hungry, hateful eyes looking at him. They were the young of whatever he had found down here. No, what had found him. They were also grinning, with watering mouths they were grinning, with their bodies growing from the unnatural flesh that covered the grey caves.

The man screamed, wasting his last full breath. He tried to get up, run more, but the young had fully formed upper bodies, including arms, those terrible arms. The silent claws gripped him, tore into him. They could grab and they could tear and they did. Their teeth’s, they could rip his flesh and grind his bones like chalk and they did. Their eyes, they could most certainly see and they saw how to kill him with the most entertaining sounds echoing from his lungs.

What was it?

The answer didn’t lie in the man’s death screams.