Free Ephemeral (The Countenance) by Addison Moore Page B

finality. The fog filters in. It comes in spurts, thick as cotton candy.
    I cut across the lawn and race down the hill toward the black of the forest. I can feel its gravitational pull drawing me in, daring me to go over—begging me to come. It lulls me into its mysterious shadows the way the ocean drinks down its victim moments before they drown.
    I halt just shy of the base and wander in slow past the first few trees. Their gnarled branches extend like fingers inviting me in.
    Evergreens as regal as soldiers stand erect, an entire infantry on patrol. They hold their weapons like secrets. But I already know about the monsters who wander these woods with their rotting flesh—their stench to match.
    The wind whispers my name like a choir, and I step out of the box trap of the forest.
    How could I go in when I know full well what lurks among those branches? What if my mysterious savior is busy sharpening his switchblades and neglects to come to my aid just when I’m in need of delivering a good pithing? Can I really thrash the brains out of a flesh-eating monster to save Casper?
    A high-pitched scream bursts from the bowels of the thicket. It sends a series of goose bumps racing over my body so violent I’m half convinced my flesh has harnessed the power to consume itself.
    Another scream—its primal distress rattles through my bones.
    That’s her.
    I snatch a branch off the ground the length of a javelin and take a deep breath.
    It’s time to thrash some zombies.
     
     

 
     
     
     
    8
    Monster Mash
     

     
    The world extinguishes all color.
    The downturned arms of the branches hold out their slivered tendrils like swords. Fog fills in the gaps, giving the forest the appearance of a negative from an old forgotten photo—some sleepy world where people still believe in monsters, boogiemen—the ungrateful dead.
    Something darts out of the pine to my left, and I let out a sharp cry.
    An owl pants and whimpers. It struggles to lift itself, agitating its inefficient wings until securing a position on a higher bow.
    “Just a bird.” I pant. “Casper?” My voice comes back to me in duplicate.
    Another cry erupts, horrific and impatient as if begging for mercy, and I speed off in that direction. The long stick I foolishly chose to brandish snags on everything in my path. It knocks sloppily into the ground, so I ditch it. There’s not a thing on my person I could use as a weapon unless you count the lip gloss in my pocket, and judging by all the loose hairs clinging to my mouth for dear life, it might prove to be great ammunition. I could be the kissing warrior. I’ll have my lips ripped off my face from sheer stupidity.
    “Casper? Where are you?” My words dwindle in volume. Something tells me losing the element of surprise in addition to being deficiently armed is not the best strategy. I have a feeling there is no strategy, no effective weaponry that could prevail against monsters like these. But then, the boy who saved me prevailed. He outright killed one, and he just so happened to be human—I think.
    I pick up my pace until it feels like the forest is closing in on me as a consistent barrage of branches attack.
    A loud growl breaks out, then two, then more than I could ever hope to count. I grab a hold of the skinny trunk of a birch to slow down my efforts.
    Another series of growls consume the forest. They rattle the floor as though it were an earthquake.
    What the hell?
    The ground pulsates. My feet bounce on solid ground as though it were about to spilt wide open and swallow me.
    The forest is alive with movement. The sound of deep, guttural breathing emanates from around. The shadows come to life as a group of hideous creatures emerge in a pack. This is no run-of-the-mill casket revival. These are a richer fare of demon—the kind without any human attributes at all, just devils on legs with faces that loosely resemble panthers.
    A rush of mutated creatures stream out, moving with exaggerated speed. It