Sky Monsters

There are sky monsters.

They are very old. Very peaceful and quiet. They merge with the sky camouflaging themselves using clouds that cling to their skin. Dancing on the air currents, the birds following them feeding of the tiny creatures that live on their skin. You cannot see all of them, but they can see you.

They used to roam the world flying and hiking across the heavens looking down at the Earth. Resting in the sun’s rays or running through the winds. They lived everywhere, there’s always air.

Some live on the ocean’s air currents migrating like waves. The blue waters below them full of life that looked up to them. Seeing shapes above them from beneath the waves that blurred the image. Their skin has a strong blue tinge and eyes as white as the salty sea foam.

Some live in the rainy clouds, rolling in the falling rain drops cleaning and soaking their coats. Calling out loudly like thunder cracks. They are the most visible but they hide in clouds, thick dark clouds that hide them like undergrowth.

Some live high up in the atmosphere, trying to catch the sun’s rays at their strongest. They dance in star light, sun light and moon light. These sky monsters glow like burning stars whilst calling out to each other during mating season. The energy they capture leaks out of them like crack suns. You can see them from the ground. These are the oldest of the sky monsters. It is rumoured that they watched the night sky form above and around them.

Some live in the tall forests. There is variation between this strand more strongly than the others. There’s ones that share the skies with those above the rain forests in the the clouds, they share it peacefully often playing games or dancing around each other. All of them live closer to the ground than all of the other monsters. They run through canopies of trees, their footsteps rustling the leaves. They used to race across all the skies but as man started flying and building high buildings they retreated into the forests and mountains. Curious ones run among the city skyline. Most stay in the natural world. Racing up hills, rivers and mountains, and through forests and above moors.

There’s sky monsters. They are as old as the sky. They can see you, even though you can’t see them.

The Road to Town

They found her early in the morning. The sun’s winter rays hadn’t reached the town, instead they peered over the tall pines sleepily. The sky was washed with grey. A cold hung waiting for bare flesh to be exposed to sink icy fangs into.

She was kneeling at the side of the road. Looking east to watch the rising sun with dazed, glazed eyes. The main road into and out of town followed the sun’s path. It was long and straight. Sheltered by a dense, thick forest that didn’t breathe.

A trucker had pulled over to take a call when he’d spotted the white shape 200 yards ahead. She was dressed in nothing but a white dress. The cold didn’t seem to bite her bare arms or her dirty, bare feet. The cold didn’t touch her, even as the damp from the ground rose up and stained her knees. Her dark brown eyes looked straight ahead. They never saw him. The man had walked towards her calling out to her. She hadn’t responded. He doubted that she’d even heard him. He called for help. She was cold when he gently shook her shoulder trying to get her attention.

She was trapped in a type of trance.

The man had called the cops so they could check if she was okay and if she was on the missing list. He looked at her. Maybe she was on drugs? She was cold and too still. He waited until a squad car pulled up. Officers Douglas and Randy climbed out of the vehicle.

“Are you Mr Pittson?” Douglas called out. The trucker nodded muttering, “Call me John.”

“Yeah, the girl is just up there.” He said pointing to her white shape.

“Didn’t you try to move her?” Randy asked.

“I tried to, but she isn’t responding to me and i didn’t want to scare her if she’s on something.” John admitted simply.

“Is she one of those kids that went missing?” John asked.

“We’ll see.” Randy said.

They stopped next to the girl. She didn’t register they arrival. She didn’t blink nor stir.

“Ma’am?” Douglas asked, but was only met with silence.

“She won’t respond. I’ve been tried for ages; nothing” John said. Douglas kept trying, he crouched down next to her. Douglas shook her shoulders gently. She didn’t respond or react. Her eyes didn’t even move from where they were focused.

“We need to get her out of her.” He said to the others. He went to pick her up. She turned to him and the next second he was flung back into a tree by some unseen force. He was knocked out cold. She went back to staring into the distance watching the road.

A gun was raised and pointed at her head. They scattered around in fear. Randy’s hand shook slightly but his gun was so close he couldn’t miss. John rushed over to Douglas.

“He’s okay!” He shouted back. “He’s just unconscious.”

Randy didn’t move his gun, too afraid to put it down. When he was afraid, he reached for his gun, like many cops he had met. She kept staring at the road. Randy kept his gun pointed at her.

“Lower your gun.” John said.

“What?” Randy spluttered.

“A gun won’t help her.” John explained calmly. Randy lowered his gun looking at the girl.

“Good, but who is she?” John asked.

“I don’t recognise her, which means I doubt she’s missing.” Randy said.

“So we don’t know who she is or why she’s here?” John questioned.

“We don’t know anything so far.” Randy said. He walked over to look at Douglas. John had put him into the recovery position. Randy started to pace. He was muttering to himself, his finger tracing the trigger.

“We just need to figure out what’s happening here, and then get her to safety.” John stated. Randy looked at him as though he’d declared that a funeral was the same as a christening.

“Get her to safety? She’s the danger!” Randy spat, almost foaming at the mouth.

“Sir, a girl doesn’t throw a cop twice her size into a tree with a look because she feels safe.” John addressed him politely.  A silence settled between them. Randy couldn’t think, and John didn’t want to speak.

“Danger” She breathed out almost silent. They only heard it because the world was silent around them. The birdsong had stopped. The engines ran silent. The wind didn’t rustle the leaves. The girl then folded in on herself as she fell unconscious. John caught her, looking at her scared.

“John.” Randy said quietly. John looked ahead at Randy’s call of his name.

Directly where she had been looking non-stop, was the figure of something coming closer. Something that looked like a man. It definitely wasn’t. Randy dropped his gun. John just held the unconscious girl in his arms. Too afraid to check for a pulse.

Suddenly, the cold didn’t reach them anymore.

Robot of the Park

There was a robot in the park. It was a F-3 model. Old and rusty. The paint job faded over years of being powered up, the F-3 on the side was barely visible. The robot was seen walking around the park everyday. It would take the same steps unless it saw someone and walked up to them. It never said anything. A few people said they’d heard it speak, but for the majority of 10 years, it had been silent. It had been alone.

No one knew why the robot was there.

It was designed to keep people company with the elderly in mind, but the local homes said it wasn’t theirs and the children were slightly scared.

The model must have a long life battery because it never left the park to charge anywhere. It had nowhere to go.

Daniel Pickinson was walking through the park with three of his friends. They were snacking and slurping out of cans. He lazily dropped a can to the ground as it slipped from his limp fingers after he drained it. He was too involved in what he was saying to hear or notice the robot approach.

“Pick it up.” The Robot said with a voice as rusty as their body. Daniel didn’t notice the source of the voice until it stopped in front of him. Daniel looked at the robot with an amused look, he looked between his friends as a weak laugh wheezed out of him.

“Pick it up. Littering is bad.” The robot said.

“Pick it up, littering is bad.” Daniel repeated mocking the machine. The robot tilted it’s head. It looked confused, as though it didn’t understand Daniel’s actions. It didn’t.

“Pick it up. Littering is bad” The robot repeated.

“Ohh pick it up”

“Pick it up”

“Littering is sooo bad”

“Littering is bad.”

“Dumb machine.” Daniel said walking past it. The robot stood there as they all walked away. It waited a moment before walking over to the can. It picked it up with creaky joints and walked over to the bin and put it away.

The robot only had one phrase the only thing it’d said over the last ten years.

25 years ago, this particular F-3 model was bought and delivered to the house of Mr Jenkins. He had be advised to have a companion robot by a grief counsellor in the wake of the death of his wife. He hadn’t liked the robot to start with but over the years they had grown closer.

Every Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Sunday; Mr Jenkins would walk through the park. It was his favourite place. The robot followed him.

“Fee” The old man called him, F-3 sounded too robotic. The man knew there was more to the robot. The robot sat down next to the old man on the park bench. They sat there a in comfortable silence. They watched the rest of the world around them. There were other robots, often F-4, F-5 or commonly F-6.

“We’re both old, behind the generations Fee.” Jenkins often said. They hadn’t seen another F-3 model in years. They were both old, and seemingly the last of their kind.

Mr Jenkins hated littering. He said he hadn’t fought for this land to be polluted. The first time Fee had seen Jenkins laugh was one day all those years ago. He had been complaining about littering, as he watched someone litter their coffee cup.

“I’d tell them to pick it up if my knees would get me off this bench quick enough.”He’d complained. Fee had stood up and gone over to them.

“Pick it up. Littering is bad.” The robot said simply. The person had stopped, turned and picked up their cup off the ground. The robot watched them until they put the cup in a bin before walking back to Jenkins. He was laughing and smiling. His eyes watering with joy rather than sadness.

Mr Jenkins had died 10 years ago. No family wanted to take the robot. When Mr Jenkin’s bungalow was sold, Fee was placed outside on the pavement for scrap metal. It had been a Monday, so Fee walked to the park. When he arrived back at the house, he couldn’t enter. Fee had gone back to the park and remained their for 10 years alone. His battery was fading. Soon the metal body of a F-3 would be littering the park.

 

Nightmares of Waking Hours

Joseph had a routine before he fell asleep. It had been drummed into him since he was younger. His mother had read a book on the importance of structured bedtimes, she’d passed her beliefs onto Joseph.

Joseph would finish his work, then he would have a drink. The drink had changed over the years from warm milk to coffee to just water. Joseph would then grab something to read. A book or papers for work. The books had evolved from picture books to those that his co-workers so heavily praised. The words soothed him over. The repetition of 26 letters over and over again on the page lulled him to sleep.

Joseph would do this every night.

Every night he would dream something he’d forget by the time he woke up the next morning. Dreams weren’t important to him.

Joseph strolled into the break room one morning. Two colleagues were discussing something as he strolled past to the coffee machine. He was craving a warm drink.

“Do you ever get that Joseph?” Amanda asked him directly pulling him into their conversation.

“Get what?” Joseph asked simply.

“Do you ever have a dream that clings to you when you wake up?” Amanda asked.

“Most people remember the bad dreams they have it’s normal.” Tim said interrupting Joseph.

“I don’t remember my dreams.” Joseph said simply, picking up his mug of coffee.

“Never?” Amanda asked frowning at him.

“No, not within my memory.” Joseph said.

“What about nightmares?” Amanda asked quickly.

“Leave him alone, if he doesn’t remember his dreams, he doesn’t remember them.” Tim said. Amanda frowned at him.

“Nightmares and dreams are different.” She said simply.

“Are they?” Joseph asked. Amanda looked at him.

“Yes, nightmares hang around a lot longer.” Amanda said coldly.

“Just because you had a nightmare-”

“What was your nightmare about?” Joseph asked Amanda cutting off Tim. Amanda swallowed. Tim muttered something.

“I had a nightmare that there was someone watching me. Not doing anything just watching. But they were watching all of us.” She said, the trace of old fear quiet in her voice.

“All of us?” Amanda nodded.

“I don’t know but someone was watching us. Me, you, Becky in accounting, Daniel down in legal, all of us.” Joseph nodded.

That night Joseph followed his routine. In the morning, he could remember his dream.

There had been a shadow at the foot of his bed. It looked like the absence of a man, a shadow. It was nothing. It stirred fear in Joseph’s gut, great hatred and irrational levels of fear. It had done nothing. It just watched him. The light in the room shifted at one point just slightly like if a cloud disappears behind the sun for a second. Joseph could have swore that’s how it was communicating. He didn’t know who it was talking to, him or something else he couldn’t see.

He came into work with  a clouded mind. He walked into the staff room. Amanda was sitting at the small table staring into her mug of coffee with blank eyes. She didn’t respond to movement around her.

“Amanda?” Joseph asked. She jumped and her head span round to look at him.

“Hello Joseph.” She said meekly. There was something wrong with her but Joseph felt too rude to ask.

“I had a dream last night.” He said into the silence.

“I thought you didn’t dream.” She said.

“I don’t but I dreamt that someone was watching me.” He said, and fear consumed Amanda’s face. She looked as pale as a ghost.

“Are you okay Amanda?” He asked putting a hand on her shoulder to steady her. He was afraid she might faint.

“Yeah I’m fine.” She said with a fake smile after a moment.

“I just had a bad dream last night and didn’t sleep much.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” He offered.

“Something grabbed me so tight but it was just a dream.” She said harshly. As though she was telling herself, that it was just a dream. Amanda left the room quickly, leaving Joseph curious and worried.

That night Joseph repeated his routine. He dreamt again.

The figure watched him again and as Joseph called out to banish the shadow, it reached and grabbed onto his arm. Bruising, and scratching Joseph’s skin as he pulled away. He jumped from his dreams to reality in a moment. Staring at the spot the shadow had just been. His heart in his mouth. He waited until the cobwebs cleared before lying back down and falling into a dreamless sleep.

Joseph woke with the sun. He climbed onto his feet rubbing his sleepy eyes. Something caught his eye. Round bruises that looked like fingers, and long scratches ran down his arm. The same place the shadow had grabbed him in his sleep. He looked at the thin scratches, the purple ripe bruises, and he felt dread to a level he had never experienced before.

He tried to shake it off. His mind kept drifting throughout the day. Drifting back to the bruises and the hand that had grabbed him.

That night Joseph did his routine on autopilot barely focusing. He dreamt again.

A large stone was on his back as he was forced to his knees. The ropes that tied the stone to him rubbed his skin and the weight was too heavy. He stood like Atlas, hunched and kneeling. He could feel them watching him. He could feel it watching him. His muscles began to shake with exhaustion and fear.

He woke up with his back and neck aching and bruised as though the rock he’d carried in his dream had shared the burden with his body. He looked at his skin. He had been rubbed raw, as though a rope had rubbed it raw in bands across his skin.

That night Joseph sat with his computer and endless coffee. He didn’t follow his routine. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t sleep. He watched the hours roll by. The sun rose and he felt bitter relief. He called in sick to work. Sarah, who answered the phone, said Amanda hadn’t come in either but hadn’t called in. That fact caused something deep within him to stir against knives and brimstone.

He spent all day starring at his screen trying to find something to relate to dreams coming to life. He couldn’t find anything. Nothing that related to torturous and physical nightmares. He was growing desperate and annoyed. His rope burns and bruises ached. His eyes were tired and his head was drooping under it’s own wait. He couldn’t sleep though.

Deep down inside, he knew that if he fell asleep the next dream would be worse. It might be deadly. Four nights seemed to ring through his mind like a fact. A curse he’d gained somewhere.

He couldn’t sleep, it would be like a rabbit lying down before a wolf with bloody fangs.

That night he tried to stay awake desperately sipping coffee and caffeine.  Joseph fell asleep, despite all of his efforts. Sleep came and stole him away. He was lying in bed. He tried to move. He was frozen. He was trapped. Bound. He kept struggling when the pain started it was hot and angry. He could smell smoke. Fear cooled his soul down.

As the flames began to consume him, it caused extreme agony that was white, hot and caused the taste of his burning flesh to rest on his tongue. His warm blood soothed the wounds for a period of time he could not remember. The fire kept burning. He kept struggling but was held completely still. The light from the flames disappeared as his eyes burnt and the information input was lost. His skin melted and bubbled around his ears so the sounds of his own screams disappeared. His mouth and nose were burnt and melted so he had no sense but pain. More pain than he ever thought possible. Yet still the flames danced.

In the morning, he didn’t wake up.

The fire alarm beeped due to the smoke.

 

 

The Woods of the Erl King

The woods shift and pull like hairs under the icy breath from the north. Wanderers lose themselves in the ever-changing landscape. They hear the warnings, and with foolish eye glance at the forest and deem it safe. Looking at the tree, marking them as though the trees centuries old shall rest and mark a path.

The woods are not still. They are alive and you are in between their claws.

They run breathless; their feet pounding against the ground like the heart in their weak chests. Roots slowly strike out at shins, and they stumble. The birds fall silent to give no guidance. The endless green canopy shuts out the light. Tall leafy guards shift to close the path behind them.  The wreckage of their footsteps on their finale journey is soon healed and hidden by the undergrowth.

No one leaves the woods, unless the trees whisper to the wind to say let them  go.

The cage birds sing sweet songs. Their voices belong in this world away from man. They are more gentle, more musical than their previous human voices. They have beautiful feathers that they groom and clean whilst missing their human flesh. They do not stretch their wings to fly; they never learnt how to fly. The cages I wield myself. Pretty human companions. Beautiful songbirds.

She enters the wood. As brave and foolishly fearless as the last, who now sings frantically to the girl.

He will do you harm

A smile pulls at my lips. A lean down to stroke the fox that rests to close to me. She keeps singing, she keeps walking. Naive she doesn’t hear the birds warning. Or she mistakes it for a fanfare into the woods.

I hear her drawing closer. Soon she shall enter my Eden and she shall not leave. She is just waiting for a cage to trap her. The new songbird shall sing and scream from her imprisonment under the Erl King.