The Bad Thing

Wrote this first back around 1995.  It gets edited and updated now and then.  It is the opening of my Circle book.  This is Benjamin from some of the other stories.  Now originally, I told this in first person.  Reading over it today, I cannot imagine what I was thinking.  I know that originally I identified with Benjamin in some strange childish way, but I've grown since then.

Poor Harry.  Get out of the city.  Was it really that hard?

He ran his stubby fingers through his sweaty hair, trying to catch his breath.  The lights cut through the shadows, but everything seems so hidden, so foreign.  He bent over and choked, squeezing and massaging his stomach.

Peeking around and seeing nothing, Harry stepped out from the alley into the street.  Some newspaper flipped and blew down the street, but no life.  It was dark, and only the soft whistle of wind could be heard.  His right hand relaxed, letting the trinket shift in his hand.  Color flowed back into his hand as he flexed his fingers.  He could smell the water.  Almost over.  He panted excitedly as he huffed and limped his way towards the city drawbridge.

Far above Harry, tucked neatly out of view, was a dark creature, a bad thing.  It watched him with a forced smile, smelling the air.  One claw scratching at the other.

Harry’s footsteps echoed as he left the concrete and stepped across the metal grating of the bridge.  He lost his footing and tried feebly to grab the railing as a hacking cough shook his body.  He put his hands on his knees and spit a small pool of blood between his feet.  He wiped the drool from his mouth and looked around again.  He whimpered as the adrenaline finally left him,  “Too much.”  He used the rail and started his final walk to the center of the bridge.  A mist began to fall.   The moisture beaded up on his clothing.  Harry was oblivious to the droplets collecting on his cheeks.

The bad thing dropped its shoulders and crouched forward onto its hands.  It began to choke and grunt.  With a few final gulps, it stretched its neck and spit up a small object covered in drool.  It was a ring.  It shot out onto the roof, where it rattled and rolled down the slant and, in a resounding ding, skipped up and over the edge, vanishing into the dark.   Moments later it could be heard bouncing far below. 

Harry looked back towards the harsh wet lights of the city.  A police car was patrolling in the distance, but soon it was gone.  What was a calm drizzle was picking up into a light shower.
The bad thing skittered across the roof.  With a short leap it pounced into a low crouch and kicked its legs, thrusting itself high into the air, spreading skeletal wings of translucent skin.  It did not come back down. 

Harry peered over the edge of the bridge and pulled the medallion out of his pocket, holding it in front of his eyes for one final look.   He could barely make out the engravings beneath its blemishes.  He had no idea what they meant, and he didn't care.

The water was starting to come down quickly now, and Harry lifted his arm, shielding his eyes from the rain.  The sounds of the winds were unsettling, like hundreds of children crying out, "hush".   Gathering his wits, Harry gritted his teeth, poised to pitch the amulet over the railing.  "To hell with you."   All of his might went into that throw, and his body continued the momentum, smacking solidly into a force – stopping him abruptly in mid-swing. Harry's heart stopped.  Everything was in slow motion.   His heart bleated out a slow thump, giving rhythm to the rainfall, allowing Harry the time to count each one colliding with his forehead, welling up in his eyes, and dripping from his nose.   His lungs began to expand, pulling in his next breath.  He slowly turned around, unsurprised—uninvolved.  His eyes started at his shoes, working their way up his body and out along his arm to see that, indeed, something was holding him.  His eyes followed the grip to its dark limb and up to its coarse presence, finally resting on its face.   At least it should have been a face.  "Imagine that." The man casually thought to himself. 

Like a rattlesnake, the other claw of his assailant flung out and snatched something from just below his chin.   As he fell to his knees, he heard the dull thud of flesh hit the street.  As the trunk of his body fell forward, his face smacked the cool cement of the bridge, bouncing once, and then coming to a rest sideways, staring across the bridge.   He could see a small river of blood forming somewhere nearby, pouring out in a little stream to a curb, where it met with rainwater, sluicing downstream.   His eyes focused on a small mound of blood.  "My throat." 

He felt his imprisoned arm hit the pavement, no longer holding the amulet.  A lullaby from his childhood began playing as he lazily watched through blurry lenses.   He felt a pressure on his back, and then motion. The thing hefted him onto his back, his head twisted at an odd angle, not quite pointing up.  Euphoria slowly spread through his body, the scene faded from his eyes, the voice of his mother singing him to sleep.  "What am I supposed to do now" he thought to himself as his lips convulsed, mouthing for the oxygen they would never receive. 

The creature brought its face close to its prey, smelling its work, tracing the man's face with the backs of its hands and knuckles.   It caressed his face tenderly with its yellow fingernails, finally resting them just above his forehead.  With a sharp exhale of breath, the thing shrieked, raking its nails down Harry's face, tearing the flesh off the skull, leaving behind a surprised grin.   The creature stood to leave and looked back across the body, which lay in an irregular, almost comical pose, still alive, wondering what was to become of it.   With a growl, the bad thing grabbed the man's chest sharply and heaved it up and over the railing, flinging it into the water far below.