Ethan marched around a stalagmite and through a bat cloud to a cave opening and peered into trees. Vines strangled branches and trunks and then slithered upon boulders and smothered them, as well, and between it all, a thick mist crept. Just then, footsteps echoed, and amidst the trunks, a bulky silhouette emerged. Ethan noticed a hobble in its stride and drew a sword. The silhouette treaded out the trees and before Ethan and then fell upon its knees.
“Stand,” Ethan said and watched it stagger upright. He strolled past the silhouette, turned, and peered at a pale, skinless leg. Just beneath its calf, a bloody bite mark existed.
Ethan sighed. “Tonight, you visited Satchel Springs, didn’t you?”
Silence.
“Come now, you don’t expect me to believe that German Shepard bite bit upon your leg by itself.” He ambled around the silhouette to the cave opening and leant upon it. “So, be honest: you got hungry, hiked through the Western Woods to Satchel, entered a house and then tried to feed alone, is that it?”
The silhouette lowered its head.
“Come on…” He slipped his sword under the silhouette’s chin and lifted its head. “Is that it?”
The silhouette nodded.
“I believed as much.” He gestured into the cave with the sword. “Okay, head on in. And stop by the well and clean that leg up. You’ll drive the bats crazy with that.”
The silhouetted nodded and shuffled inside.
Ethan glanced back, and when he no longer heard footsteps, ambled toward the misty trees, swinging the sword this-way-that. Just within the stalks, he listened and heard not a single animal but, over his shoulder, felt a presence approach.
He gripped his sword. “Good evening, my friend. Any other being wouldn’t be able to distinguish you from a shadowy vine, but, you see, I’m not any other being.”
He listened. Silence.
“So,” he said. “Would you like to make yourself known to me, or would you like me to make my blade known to you?”
Suddenly, just behind him, hissing sounded and then, as the sound traveled up a tree, it sounded less and less. Ethan shook his head.
“Given that creature’s size, you’d swear this was the Amazon.”
He sheathed his sword and trekked to a bog. Over its muddled, still waters, a log protruded. Ethan leapt upon it and followed its bark to the end and then peered downward at his shady reflection. Before long, he peered at his hands, turning them palm-up and palm-down, studying their paleness and bulging veins. His faced dropped into his hands.
“What have I become?” he said. “Who have I become?” He shook his head. “This isn’t me. I’m not some creature of the deep. I’m Ethan Stillborn.” He lifted his head, gazed over the bog into shaded trees beyond. His last word echoed through his mind.
Stillborn, Stillborn…
Before long, on the bog’s opposite side, a room appeared…a room stacked with cardboard boxes, and Ethan recognized it…there a coffee table and, behind it, a sofa. Seated on the sofa was a boy who looked as he used to, and seated on the floor in front of coffee table was a younger boy. Upon the coffee table, a checkerboard laid, and both boys took turns sliding pieces about.
Ethan closed his eyes, and the image before him became clearer, so he reached-out toward it, hoping he could touch the younger boy on the shoulder.
Stillborn, Stillborn…
He couldn’t remember his name, except for he knew him and know his name was ‘Stillborn’ just as his own.
Stillborn…
Before long, the image began to fade, and Ethan stretched a hand toward it.
“No, no!” He stepped toward it and, at once, stumbled, but gathered himself and ambled forward. “No, come back!”
The image faded further, and just before it was gone, the younger boy glanced back at Ethan and smiled. “You can hear me? You can hear me! I’m coming for you!” He plodded, fought forward. “I’m coming!” Suddenly, each step came far easier, and he dashed forward and fell beside the image of the boy and hugged it, tears pouring down his cheeks. “I’ll find you, don’t worry! I’ll find you!” For a while, remained there balling with weeping, before long, open his eyes. Upon his knees, he found he’d been crying into a jagged tree trunk, and when he glanced over his shoulder, he saw ripples in the muddy bog and, on the opposite side, the log he’d been standing on. Beyond it, several silhouettes stood. Hence, he sighed, climbed upon his feet, and trudged around the bog to the silhouettes.
“Show’s over,” he said. “Nothing more to see. Everyone can head back.”
He watched the silhouettes turned and trek through the trees ahead and then brushed and kicked mud off his shoes and pants. Once back at the cave, he ambled beneath a bat-crammed ceiling and down a narrow, earthy corridor. Soon, he slipped into a dark chamber and then, over a pile of twigs, clapped two rocks together who cinder ignited the pile. So, hunched there, rubbing his hands, thinking about that he’d seen at the bog.
Stillborn…