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May 27, 2023

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Light dripped like a warm rain through the leafy weave of the verdant canopy over head. Morris wielded his machete, blade glinting, to slash the thick wall of twisting vines and thorny undergrowth before him. He had to make it back to his campsite before the light faded, before the Skraekja awoke and crawled out of their burrows.

 

Several members of his team sent out on exploratory missions had been ambushed by the Skraekja. Taken, dismembered, and devoured. Morris shivered at the thought. Though Skraekja were bipedal and vaguely resembled humans, that’s where any similarities stopped. Two thick fingers instead of five, with clicking claws more like knives. A mouth that went from ear to ear, if they’d had ears, hiding serrated—well, they weren’t individual teeth, more like interlocking serrated saw blades inside their mouths.

 

And eyes? You wouldn’t call them eyes, not like we know them. Skraekja had a single, gaping black hole in the center of their foreheads; no lids, no lashes. Suppose that’s why they only come out at night; daylight likely blinds them.

 

Taking a deep breath, Morris raised his machete; the blade flashed with his stroke. He hacked his way to a small clearing, in the center of which stood an obelisk completely covered with a twining vine. He carefully approached, reaching his gloved hand out to touch the structure when the leaves suddenly lifted, revealing thousands of glittering eyes, all looking at him.

 

Before Morris could react, something kicked him sharply in the shin. He spun around to find a Skraekja towering behind him. Morris’ heart pounded in his chest like a cop’s fist hammering a suspect’s door. The Skraekja squealed and squeaked something in it’s atonal language.

 

“What?” Morris asked. Was it possible it didn’t want to destroy him, but communicate instead? This was amazing! He'd have the first human conversation with a sentient creature on another planet. It screeched at him, louder. “What?” Morris repeated. “I don’t—”

 

The Skraekja reached for Morris’ helmet, and rudely ripped it off. “Don’t!” Morris cried. “I can’t—”

 

“I said,” the policemen grunted, leaning over close to Morris’ dirty face, “move your cart out of the way. You’re blocking the sidewalk.”

 

Morris rose from the pavement and frantically reached for his VR goggles. The policeman held them aloft, out of reach, with one hand, and with the other pointed to a large brick planter. “Over there,” he said flatly. “Move your cart over there and I’ll give ‘em back.”

 

Morris did as he was told, and with shambling footsteps pushed the shopping cart holding all of his worldly belongings to the area the policeman pointed out. It was a grimy concrete corner behind the planter—a planter devoid of plants, as its soil was depleted long ago. Morris settled into this shadowy urban space.

 

“Much better,” the cop said, as if talking to a child. “Now, no one will trip over you, and really, you’re less like to be jumped, as nobody will hardly notice you squatting behind the planter.” He handed Morris’ government-issued VR goggles back to him. “You’ll be safer here, especially at night, when hooligans come out looking for trouble.”

 

Muttering a barely audible thanks, Morris clumsily put the VR goggles back on. He sighed at the serene beauty of the world within, especially the obelisk patiently waiting for his touch. Morris reached his hand out to the alien structure. The cop watched Morris extend his trembling hand to touch—nothing. He shook his head and went on his way.

Copyright 2023 - SFS Publishing LLC

They Only Come Out at Night

The worst of both worlds

Hillary Lyon

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