Free Deep in the Darkness by Michael Laimo Page B

fluttering by your head like tiny helicopters.
    "So I aimed the light at the center stone where I killed the possum and sure enough it was still there. I'd half expected to find it gone, not from the hand of an Isolate but from the claw of an owl. I walked closer, light still shining on the animal. I could see all sorts of insects buzzing about it. And then the smell...it was awful, something like bad vegetables. I took a swig of bourbon and as I did the light fell away from the animal. That was when I saw the eyes."
    "The dead possum's eyes?" I asked, sitting on the center stone. At this point there was no sense in trying to end this conversation, Phillip seemed determined to take this to the very end, and frankly I was intrigued by the significance of the gold lights—whether the ones I saw, or imagined to see, were something more than just fireflies.
    Fireflies in May, Michael?
    He grinned. "I wished that were the case. No, these eyes were alive . As golden as the center signal on a traffic light."
    "Old Lady Zellis?"
    He shook his head. "Nope...these eyes belonged to an Isolate."
    I smiled, half incredulously, half out of discomfort. I didn't want to believe him. But something inside told me I should, and I promised myself a few shots of something strong when I got back to the house. Maybe even bourbon, the liquor of occasion.
    "It'd crept over the far edge of the rock, just a hand at first, long fork-like fingers gripping the dead animal like a doll. Then I saw the head, and it grinned at me, bright golden eyes cutting the darkness like two beacons. It was as though it knew I was there and had waited for the most opportune time to make its grand entrance and scare the piss out of me, which it did, but I hadn't noticed that until later.
    "When I finally made it past the dreadful glow of its eyes, the rest of the thing's face came into focus. It was no less sinister looking. It looked like that of an old man's, all brown and wrinkled like a crumpled paper bag that's been smoothed out. There were some colored streaks on its cheeks and forehead, made with spoiled berries, and in its hand was a pointed spike of slate. It aimed the makeshift weapon in my direction and jabbed the air as if to say, come near my warm meal and I'll scalp you, you motherfucker. Of course I stood my ground, and at that moment I felt as though I'd been scared sober, my body stiff and poised to flee at the first indication of threat. Slowly it crawled up on the rock, taloned feet gripping the smooth surface as deftly as its hands, those golden eyes not leaving me for one second as it patiently claimed its prize.
    "The first thing I noticed about its body was that it had been clothed, crudely however, with nothing more than dirty rags shrouding the groinal area. The torso, arms, and legs on the slight creature were emaciated, covered with patches of coarse hair. The skin beneath was thick and calloused and mottled with warts. At this proximity I could really smell the thing now, a horrid stench of bodily filth and decay. God-damned awful. It speared the animal with the slate spike, then grinned, showing a mouth filled with thick brown teeth. And then...it laughed . Michael, the damn thing laughed at me, made this deep chortling sound that was instantaneous, and utterly deliberate."
    I shuddered, envisioning the scene in my head, trying very hard not to believe him.
    "It stood up on its hind legs, holding the possum above its head in a prayerful stance; from head to toe the thing couldn't have been more than four and a half feet tall. With an alarming quickness, it jumped down from the rock and darted back into the woods with the speed and accuracy of a frightened squirrel."
    At this very moment I wondered if there was something intrinsically wrong with Phillip. I didn't doubt for a moment that something happened here all those years ago. After all, I did see the golden lights, and when I looked in Phillip's eyes I saw something sorrowful in them,