The Horror Library - The Best in Horror Fiction

Jumon
By Jason R. Beirens

A pair of high wolves made their way through the ancient city streets of Xersis, their bodies barely fitting through the alleys, casting giant shadows on hanging signs and brick walls. Blood lust replaced hunger in their animal minds. They cut through the city by scent running past the oldest sections. They blurred past Cottonwood Temple in the heart of Deadmans Moor, and down through Kindkut. They hurried past the tiny marketplace of Gangarts Hole, and skirted Yancysgone, with its tighter alleys. Gang members took a second to look at the speeding things, and one or two had time enough to flick open a knife, but none had time to use them. The brown white blurs were gone down the alley and out of sight in less than a second. A few of the slowest members were left on the floor, one holding his shredded arm. He was taken to the local shaman for healing.

The wolves had made their way from the outskirts of the city, the Black Forest. A place full of dead trees, some slowly making their way into the cities borders. The birds of the forest, living in the hollows of some of the dilapidated buildings, long abandoned for better quarters. The wolves moved in to an abandoned building, other larger creatures had begun to do so as well. The wolves took up residence on the second floor of an old tenement, in a room that was out of the way from other animals, but close enough for hunting. They could still smell the river from there, not more than a mile away, the air tasted of it. The fish and river lichen had an unmistakable scent.

Now they hunted different prey, not fish or rabbit or stray bugboo, no. Some creature had stolen something very important to them. They would find the creature and kill it. They would not feast on the bones or meat, they would not soil their palate, no they would kill it and leave it to rot. They would drag it into the sun and let the flesh curl away, and the eyes dry out. They would watch for some days as the carcass dried like autumn leaves. When they were satisfied with the decay, then and only then, would they would go back to their hunger, and sate their appetite.

The wolves, Hankin and Madri, would taste revenge against the creature that took their cubs.
~
The cracked metal mask sat where his head should be. It resembled an insect. Big hollow eyes reflecting the world back onto itself. Chunks of metal broke away from the whole, dangling, yet never falling. The mask was stained crimson and brown by rust and age. Two wire thin antennae danced in the wind, one directly above each eye. On the rare occasions that he did speak it sounded forced, robotic, emotionless. His gait was long and his body held stiff, his wide shoulders held out, back, and strong. On rare occasion he would walk like an insect, on all fours, leaping and twitching as he made his way across impossible brambles, or thickets, or roofscapes. The insectile mask bouncing back and forth taking everything in.

The city was before him. It lay out for miles in every direction, on the east and north was the Black Forest; he watched it as it moved slowly, inch by inch, into the city. To the south was Shaddlers Bay, and the dockyards that grew on its edges like bacteria. The west was the Haunted Ocean, named that because of the amount of sailors lost to the mean, cold waters.

The insect man removed his helmet as he watched the waves dance against the deserted beaches to the west. His face fell forward, a mass of tentacles wriggled about tasting the salt air. His eyes blinked rapidly, the greater eyes watering, and the lesser, sitting above and back, remained closed. Small blue and yellow veins throbbed just under the thin stretch of puckered gray green skin. He took a flask from out of his finely tailored forest green overcoat and opened it with his human hands. He poured a small amount of sea water over his head; his skin soaked it in as quickly as it touched, his lesser eye opening taking in the moisture. Very little of the water was allowed to drip onto his white dress shirt and black tie. His slacks were left completely dry. His feet were left to the open air at most times. They were strange things. Suction cups covered the bottom, and the grey green skin was left dry. They had adapted now to the open air.
He was known to the locals of Yancysgone as Octopus Joe, P.I. For the most part he was trusted, near all people in the borough had been helped in some way by him. He might have helped find the killer of someone\'s brother, or helped to bring down one of the many local gangs that terrorized the neighborhood. A million different things had been done by, or with the help of Octopus Joe.

After his skin had settled, he put the voice box back into his maw, and then reattached the mask onto the neck pivot. A hissing sound was heard. Then Octopus Joe made his way back down the building into his office and waited for a call that he knew would come.
~
Hankin and Madri lost the scent near the deserted beach, near Bramble peninsula. They sniffed around and decided with some annoyance that the creature had likely gone into the Haunted Ocean. They new little of the city, never had they traveled beyond the old building they lived in. They had only made it this far on the scent of the evil creature. They hadn\'t paid attention to the surroundings, they were lost. They whined and howled, whimpered, and then slowly, very slowly, made their way back into the labyrinthine city. Their heads hunkered down, and tails between their legs, they made their way back into the dark streets.
~
Joe waited until Ten PM, no call came. He decided to head home.

As he made his way down to the street, he heard the wolves call. They cried out to mother moon for guidance, for help. Joe was cautious when leaving the hallway out into the street. He decided to take a more careful route. He lay on his back and touched his feet to the wall, the suction cups took to the wall and he slowly started to inch up it in an award crawl. The going was slow; he would pull his leg up with his arms and put his foot up in front of himself. He was bunched into a ball that should have been impossible for the human form. One leg shoved in front of the other, he moved most clumsily on the walls. He was around twelve feet off the walkways, making his way home when the wolves appeared under him.

They wined and howled low, and paid him little attention as they continued the trek to an empty home.

\'Curious\', thought Joe as he watched the pair of giant predators stumble through, not stalk into the night.

He took a chance and let himself fall to the ground. The wolves did not turn and attack, they did not stop, turn and growl, they only continued on, sullen into the dark shadows of the city. Joe smelled work then. It was not a call he was expecting earlier, it was a meeting, and this was it.

Carefully, very carefully he walked to the side of the giants, not between them, for his instinct told him that separating these creatures would cause his death. So, he walked beside the smaller of the two, the female, Madri. He of course did not know that was her name, only that she and her mate needed help. He tried to convey with body language and signs that he wanted to assist them in any way he could. They slowed as he signed to them, they did not stop though. They continued on, lost.

The shadows moved with the moon. They became long and black as pitch against the crumbling bricks and rock mortar of the city. Joe frantically tried to stop them. They bounded into Gangarts Market, a dangerous place at anytime of the day, but at night it was deadly. The gangs strolled free here. The constables did not move about here, or often visit. It was run by the Deuces, twin women that tolerated nothing, excepting each other. If they were not obeyed to the letter, then the offending party was cut down. They had their lookouts all over the borough. Joe was trying to keep the wolves to the shadows, tight against the walls.

Joe was attempting to lead them to a shaman. A woman he knew who could help. Madri and Hankin did not want to co-operate. Slowly though ever so slowly he found their way to her front door. Joe could see the spies of the Deuces everywhere, flitting into shadows as they realized they were seen.

After the third round of knocking the shaman came to the door. She was short and thin, weighing at most one hundred and twenty pounds. She was no older then twenty five, her face the color of caramel was smooth, and her arms and legs tight with sinew. Her eyes though, held ages of wisdom. Swirling masses of colors spun about leaving round light traces in the air.

\"Hello Joe. Who are your friends?\" she said, and stretched her arms up past her mass of black hair.

He scrawled with stub charcoal on paper and tore it from a small pad and handed it over to her. She scanned it quickly, and turned to face the down turned snouts of the wolves. They were snuggling into each others necks and making small sounds that Joe were sure were sobs.

\"Little honeys, come inside.\"

The way she had spoken perked up the ears on the wolves. Their tails wagged slowly as they wandered into the small tenement. Madri turned to Hankin, and he nodded. It reminded them of their home.

As the shaman led the three creatures into the back room, her many intricate necklaces jingled and sounded with each collision, of trinket to trinket, or trinket to skin. She never looked back.

They stopped around a small fire burning in an iron stove. The shaman shoved a stick between the grating and the fire roared, grew, and then faded back to what it was.

\"Sit.\" She commanded.

The four of them sat in a circle around the fire.

\"You two are my concern for now.\" She touched an ear on each wolf, \"You worship mother moon. She will answer me.\"

The shaman began to chant, and wave her hands about. Her trinkets danced and sounded, and then she was quiet. She lowered her head to her chest and touched her hand to her heart.

\"Madri and Hankin are their names. They have lost the scent of the creature that took their pups. The scent was lost to the Haunted Ocean, near the edge of the docks.\" Her voice was lower then before. Her eyes brighter, the light traces more intense. \"The moon wants vengeance as much as they do. She does not like losing her worshipers.\"

Joe scribbled on his pad one word, \'Drowned\'. He did this unconsciously, his eyes not leaving the traces from the shaman\'s eyes.
She shook her head,
\"No.\"

The shaman spoke more, but Joe quit listening. It was not important to the case. He was trying to figure out what had happened. He had a few ideas.

The two wolves howled, joined by the shaman, Jonsie Vinesse the lower. Joe sat watching them.
~
When the three creatures left the tenement, Joe was riding on Hankins back, holding fiercely onto the tuft of fur on the nape of the neck. They began slow, but then began a quick gallop through the streets. They turned precisely, the stars above were white streaks against black, and the Deuces spies were quickly left behind.

Not more then a few minutes had passed when they entered Dockside. Low sturdy warehouses claimed the skyscape here. Giant steam cranes jutted towards the moon at times, mostly, though, the view towards the small inland sea was unhindered.

What mother moon had told Jonsie to tell the wolves was that they were to find a small boat headed for Bramble Straight. The name was not known to her, but from her great height she had seen the creature stow away on the tiny boat. Joe was to dive into the water and board and secure it, and bring it back to shore.

A few boats were out on the water headed for Bramble.

Joe tugged to the left on the tuft. He thought furiously, trying to somehow make them understand. His robotic voice sounded in the night air even emptier, the wolves though began to understand,

\"Bramble Peninsula.\"

They went faster and faster keeping to the waters edge, watching the boats steam closer to the strait. Small shops that had long been abandoned flew by. The place Joe had been found as a child, at the dockside funfair passed by, it had since fallen half into the water, abandoned for more fertile and happier grounds thirty miles up the beach. A few flocks of sheep and bugboo were all that really took up Bramble anymore. A few derelicts here and there and a handful of renegade shaman also shared the land. All that stopped a mile surrounding the watchtowers. Only constable and politicians were allowed near them. They stood with heavy guard all around. Joe and the wolves would have to be careful.

Just out of guard site, the three stopped. Mardi and Hankin collapsed from exhaustion. Joe climbed off, took off his bug mask, and jumped into the water. He caused nearly no effect. Small ripples swayed in the foam, then quickly dropped away. Under the water Joe moved the easiest. Like any other creature born of the water he was at home. His tentacles slithered taking in the water. His skin undulated with delight at the touch of it. He could taste the salt nearby. The salt the strait filtered out. He was close to the towers. He stayed as deep as he could for as long as he could. He swam quickly looking to the surface to watch the undersides of the boats moving.

He could see the moon clearly from the water. He waited for her to give the signal.

A small charter boat passed over head and the moon spasmed in the air, ripples grew out from its edges and away. It was speaking.

Joe made his way up to the surface. His feet and face suctioned to the stern. He climbed clumsily up the side. His body once again held in the ball that seemed impossible. He slowly made his way up the side. He read the name as he passed it.

Hylechs Promise

He had ridden the boat before. It was a pleasure cruiser that toured the Haunted Ocean for a few hours and then headed back to port. This was its four AM tour. The romantic\'s tour, as the captain had called it when he had taken it about a year ago. Though a tour boat meant only two things to him, either this creature he was chasing for the wolves was an idiot, or he intended to hijack it.

He hoped for the first.

When Joe made it up to the deck he peeked over the side to see what was happening on deck. His eyes all opened wide. A creature that looked a lot like him was holding everyone hostage. The creature was loosely covered in rags, its visible skin a sickly white. The human arms held two blunderbusses. The tentacles on the face were extended, dripping with saliva.

Joe recognized the captain, he was on the ground. His hands clenched in loose fists above his chest. A trickle of white jelly fell from his mouth, the eyes staring up unblinking. Two others wearing the silly uniforms of tour guides laid out by the captain looked much the same. The engine chugged away, and the boat was getting closer to the strait.

The creature pointed to the bodies with one blunderbuss and signaled to take them out of sight. A few crying passengers did so. They were about to toss the bodies overboard, but the creature made a strange yelp. Everyone stopped moving. It then motioned to below deck. Joe knew then that the creature was smart. The splashes and ripples would attract attention from the towers, and that was not wanted.

Joe\'s feet and face suctioned to the smoothed wood, his head turned at an awkward angle, so he could watch what was happening. His hands holding tightly onto the blunderbusses, with this enemy though, he knew that the guns would do nothing.

Suddenly a splash was heard, loud and messy. A passenger had jumped ship. The creature howled and ran flailing towards where the portly man had jumped from. The guttural screams piercing the ear-drums of those around him, small trickles of blood flowed forth. He shot two men and a pushed them over board. He then threw one blunderbuss at a woman and knocked her down; a purple swelling welled up on her cheek. The other he violently flung upward, it fell several moments later into the water. He then grabbed a screaming woman and pulled her close. His tentacles slithered about, and then suddenly took a hold of her face. Her arms jerked back and forth. Her fingers formed tight fists and beat the sides of her attacker, and then after a few seconds she went stiff. He let her go, his tentacles sliding off of her whitening face. Red dots were all over her face, then they began to quickly disappear. One final gurgle and she fell to the ground. Snapping sounds echoed on the wooden deck. A small pool of sea foam green jelly formed below her face.

Joe watched in horror as it all took place. He needed to pick his moment, rushing in would only get him killed. The last half dozen passengers ran away in all directions, some jumped over board, some fled below deck, and some went for higher ground. The creature stood watching, his head twisting in all the directions. Then he spotted a man and woman on up the slight staircase. His tentacles wriggled, tasting their fear. His eyes narrowed, and his maw opened as he slowly made his way to them. Step by step, they watched each other. He moved at a deliberately slow pace. His arms held out wide, his human hands opened slightly, resembling claws.

Slowly and silently, Joe made his way on deck. There was a harpoon device loaded on the bow. He set his blunderbusses down quietly and then quickly picked the device up. He rolled forward keeping the harpoon pointed at the creature, and he landed, no more then five feet from him. The trigger was pulled and the harpoon tore into the grey green skin, white blood shot out the other side dousing the trapped couple. They screamed louder. He turned from them, turned backward, towards Joe. He was ready to fight, even injured as he was. Then he saw that it was another like him, the narrow eyes widened then turned down in disbelief. In their shared language he asked,

\"Why?\"

Then he collapsed. Holding the harpoons jagged point.

\"You\'re coming with me.\" Joe said.

The other creature was tied up with wire; it cut grooves into his skin. The remaining passengers came out and helped Joe finish the knots. Joe put one finger to his face, the humans understood, \'Quiet.\' Then Joe and his prisoner jumped over board, Joe dragging him behind, harpoon and all, white blood trickling behind.

Hylechs Promise was found moments later by the constables, those that had jumped over board were fished out of the water, a few dead, but some alive. The passengers said nothing of Joe. The stories the next day were all different, most though said the highjacker shot himself with a harpoon and jumped overboard. \'He must have been mad.\' was what was most widely quoted.

It was a mile to the shore where the wolves waited. Joe hoped he and his prisoner would both last. He pivoted his body awkwardly, twisting with the pain of strained muscles. One hand was free to propel them both by. The other creature did not move.

Joe made it to the shore and the wolves were waiting. Hankin licked his lips. Madri growled loudly. The wolves dragged both onto more solid ground. Joe reattached his bug mask, and after a few seconds spoke, robotically,

\"This is the creature, he is one of mine. I apologize for the rest of my kind.\"

Madri and Hankin bowed their heads, seemingly recognizing the words, though Joe had his doubts. Hankin then lowered his head and sniffed at the creature. Joe answered, by asking with his own language, the sounds hollowed, but clearer then common, and with emotion.

\"Why did you kill their cubs?\"

The creature didn\'t speak, he barely breathed, he sat still. His wound bleeding profusely now, his rags stained gray by the blood.

Joe walked up to him, and wriggled the harpoon from the back end. The creature screamed out in his alien tongue. Then Joe noticed deep scars on his back, older then the new wound. There were tracks of puckers, the flesh browning in places. Joe looked to the wolves, and spoke in common,

\"This one is on jumon, drugs.\"

The wolves bayed at the mother moon. Joe then took his leave. He would find Madri and Hankin later for payment. He heard the screams behind him as they tore into one of his own.
~
Joe thought as he walked back to his home, of his time hooked on jumon, wolf\'s blood. He had kicked the habit with the help of Jonsie, her shaman magic\'s pulling the poisons out of him.
He shook his head and walked towards the sunrise, towards his home. He knew another case was coming soon. That word though, that one word stuck in his head, \"Why?\" Their kind was not supposed to turn on each other. They were few, and becoming fewer. Joe thought back on it, his family, his kind, let him to the humans as a child. He owed his own nothing, for they had given him nothing. He still, though, felt a sting of regret, but it was dulling quickly.
~
The other creature was found, uncovered ten days later, by a few derelicts. The meat rotting, peeling from his hollow bones, the brown skin caused by jumon now matched the rest. Three of his eyes dried out, one great eye left, looking towards the ocean. The derelicts flayed what was still good and feasted that night, tossing the brown and grey green skin into a pitiful fire, greedily shoving the meat into their mouths.
Somewhere far away the wolves howled.