Cryptid

Brambles scratched at his legs as Merrin clambered through the thicket of foliage. The light of his lantern swayed and flickered as he struggled to keep his balance. Trees peered through the darkness of the forest, the branches splintered and warped. Merrin followed the path of destruction as it carved a way through the dense forest. Whatever had caused it was still in the forest somewhere, the strange whirring noise growing louder the deeper he got. There was a thin, burnt path in the foliage, a strange darkness creeping into the greenery, the life draining from the wilting leaves leaving behind nothing but thorny branches.
His heart thudded in his chest and his breath came out in short, sharp pants. The air around him felt thinner, his lungs burning as he tried to breathe in as much air as he could. The whirring was louder, drawing out whatever other sounds were in the forest. Merrin knew he was in too deep. He’d hit the point of no return as soon as he’d stepped off the main path. The compass felt warm in his hand, the once cool metal almost searing his skin. Everything felt wrong.
There was a metallic tang on his tongue as he fought to breathe. He should’ve stopped, but he couldn’t. There was something here. Something so strange and unusual that was begging to be found. And it was leading him straight to it.
The earth beneath his feet was scorched, but not from fire. There was no sign of a blaze, no ashes, no embers. Just that same darkness that coated the trees and foliage. The path he was following disappeared, spreading out into a maze of dead trees. Their branches were void of any leaves but dripped with an inky substance.
Merrin swiped one of the branches with a hesitant finger. The substance was cold, far colder than anything he’d felt before. It was as if it were frozen but it still coated the digit like a liquid. He wiped it off on his jacket and it slipped off his finger with ease.
He sucked in a deep breath, the air finally feeling clear. But everything around him was still drowned out by the deafening whirr circling him. Every turn he took it never changed.
The air felt cold, but he didn’t. As he walked he brushed past the trees, the slightest nudge snapping off the brittle branches. The trees had been sapped of all life, the wood dead but not rotten. It was strange and a little more than unusual.
Everything he passed was the exact same: dead, but not rotten. There was no clear path between the trees, each one was coated in the same thing and the ground was burnt from something he didn’t know. There was a small clearing ahead, a dead stump stood at the centre, void of any dark liquid. The light of his lantern shone off of the dark substance coating the forest floor. Merrin took careful steps towards the stump, avoiding any areas that seemed to be deceiving. The cuts on his legs stung as he walked, but he tried to ignore it, the cold air doing nothing to numb his pain.
This was a stupid idea. It was bad enough going into the forest alone. It was worse following a strange substance through the forest deeper than he’d ever been before.
He placed the lantern on the stump. With both hands free, he opened the compass. The needle spun around, shaking in Merrin’s unsteady hand. He watched as it spun around and around, finally settling on a point behind him. He wasn’t surprised, he’d probably walked past whatever it was without even realising. The forest was so dark and all looked the same this far in. He wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to find his way home, unless he just picked a direction and walked until he reached the edge of the forest – or plummeted to his death off a cliff, either or.
Merrin turned towards the dark forest, closely watching the shadows for any movement. As he did so, the needle remained still. He gave it a quick shake to try and reset it. It didn’t move. He turned again. The needle stayed still. The coloured end of the needle pointed towards himself. He held the compass out to the side and watched as the needle spun towards him. It shouldn’t have been confusing, he didn’t even know what the compass pointed towards. It wasn’t him, was it? If it was then surely he would’ve noticed it before.
The lantern flickered, making the shadows dance around him. He looked over his shoulder as the lantern, but saw nothing unusual; just the warm glow of the flame flickering back and forth in its glass cage.
Walking back to the stump, Merrin knelt down, placing the compass flat on the centre of the wood. He crouched down, using the soft light to see the compass clearly.
The needle teetered in place.
A cold shiver ran through Merrin’s body but there was no change in wind. The persistent whirr rose in pitch, the deafening noise almost a shriek in the dark.
The needle began to turn.
Merrin looked around him, the darkness felt closer, the lantern dimmer. The flame flickered and Merrin swore he saw something in the darkness. It flickered again but all he saw was the dark branches of the trees. His breath became visible in front of him, the mist swirling up into the sky above. The air grew even colder, biting at Merrin’s fingertips.
The needle turned towards the darkness.
Merrin flitted his gaze to the surrounding forest. Nothing had changed. Black liquid still dripped from the branches. Withered leaves fell to the floor. Shadows weaved against the thick rows of trees. The lantern’s light flickered.
The needle turned.
Merrin wrapped his fingers around the handle of his dagger. The whirr became fragmented, the pitch changing with each break. The lantern’s light flickered once more before dulling, the flame shrinking in its cage.
The needle turned towards the lantern.
Merrin winced as the cold air stung his lungs. The whirring quietened to a soft hum. It was then he could hear it: the discerning quiet of the forest. There was no rustling of leaves or snapping of branches. No dripping of liquid or whistling of wind.
The needle stilled.
Merrin watched the light violently sway, each move threatening to kill the flame.It dimmed, only illuminating the stump. The dark grew darker, the trees melting into the shadows. He tightened his grip on his dagger, the leather digging into his palm.
The needle shook in place.
A sharp pain ran through Merrin’s head. He felt the warm trickle of blood from his nose. He wanted to close his eyes, to squeeze them shut and will the pain to stop. But he couldn’t. His eyes remained open, trained on the flame. Shadows crept up the edges of the stump, sharp, claw-like shadows reaching towards the lantern. The flame flickered violently.
The needle spun between the shadows.
The shadows stretched further, reaching towards the flame. Merrin tried to move away, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. Could barely breathe. The shadows stretched into finger, then slowly into hands. He knew those hands. Knew that black, inky darkness that melted into the shadows. They stretched apart, sinewy strands pulling between the fingers.
The needle spun.
The shadow surrounded the lantern. The darkness dripped from its sharp claws onto the stump. The whirring grew louder. The shadow climbed the edge of the lantern, scratching at the rusted metal. One claw pushed against the latch, struggling with the bent metal.
The needle spun around.
Merrin didn’t know when he moved. He reached out towards the latch. The shadow shrank back into the darkness. With a practised hand, Merrin flicked open the latch before pulling his hand back. The whirr briefly grew louder, pitch rising before it quietened once more. The shadow reemerged, pulling the lantern door open. It reached inside, dripping darkness into the glass case.
The needle spun around, and around, and around.
With one claw, the shadow hooked the flame, keeping still as the flame fizzled out into a small stream of smoke, plunging the world into darkness.
Merrin could what the needle spinning in place, the scraping of parts against one another as it went around, and around, and around. The whirr began again, softer in tone but broken in pace. There was a guttural gargle and Merrin felt something cold and wet against his hand, wrapping itself around his fingers. He kept his breath shallow, but felt the warmth of it bouncing off of something in front of his face.
With a shaking hand, Merrin reached into his pocket and pulled out his firestarter. He clicked the button on the side to release the gas, he pressed another and a flame erupted into the darkness. Whatever it was before him was unmoving, and Merrin could finally see just what was stretched over the tree stump.
Its face, just centimetres from his own, was pure black. Dark horns curled up above it, dripping black liquid into the space between them. There was a deep glow emanating from a slit in its face – what Merrin thought was a mouth. Razor sharp slits cut teeth across the open maw. Its jaw hung open, the black strands keeping it attached to the rest of its head. Above its mouth two tears swirl where eyes should’ve been. It wasn’t looking at Merrin, its gaze focused instead on the small flame flickering from the firestarter.
Merrin waved the firestarter in between him and the creature, watching as its head tilted at the flame. He didn’t know what came over him, but he reached out to the creature – which tilted its head at an impossible angle at the approaching hand. Its skin, if it could even be called that, was cold and wet to the touch. It felt as though it was seeping into his own skin and gnawing away at the bone. The black liquid dripped down his hand, engulfing his pale skin.
Without warning, the creature snapped at the flame, yanking the firestarter out of Merrin’s hand before melting away into the shadows. Merrin was left alone in the darkness, cold liquid dripping down his fingers. The whirring noise disappeared and the compass clicked itself back into place.
Merrin sat by the stump, trying to piece together what just happened. When his mind came up blank, he turned his thoughts to how exactly he was going to get home.