Not Your Average Monster: A Bestiary of Horrors

by Pete Kahle

  It looks like there’s very little left here that’s worth taking. Not that I can trust my memory right now but we were on our way back and we... I should only be a day’s trek from base camp.

  I hear a noise from the bushes and duck down. I can see a shape moving through the shrubbery, black military army boots visible from my prone position at ground level. I look up and I can see a mop of ginger hair just above the top of the greenery. Moseley nearly failed his basic training on his stealth manoeuvres and it looks like he’s back to his old habits. Lucky it’s only me here.

  “Martin!” I say. “I’m over here.”

  I’m still not certain if he’s responsible for this or not but there’s only one easy way to find out. His reaction isn’t what I expected.

  “Get away from me!” he yells and starts running in the opposite direction.

  Now I’m even more confused. I run after him and catch him easily.

  “Martin, it’s only me,” I say as I grab his shoulder. He stops running and turns. His knife is in his hand and aimed straight at my stomach.

  Instinct takes over and I step back as I block downwards, grabbing the wrist and twisting it. The wristlock takes hold and his arm stiffens. When I swivel round on my right foot he’s flipped perfectly onto the ground. I grab his elbow and bend the arm as I kneel down next to him. I still have one hand gripped round his fist so he’s unable to drop the knife. With his elbow bent at ninety degrees, the blade is millimetres away from his throat.

  “What the fuck happened Martin? Tell me now.”

  “Don’t kill me!” he begs me.

  “I’m not going to kill you.” I say, even more confused now. Is he saying this because I’ve killed someone? I know I look like I have. Or does he think I’m looking for revenge for the others?

  With his free hand he picks up a rock and tries to smash it in my face. It’s a bad mistake on his part as it makes me duck, rather than move backwards like he must have hoped I’d do. The knife blade moves downward as I do, piercing his throat and severing the windpipe. He makes a horrible gurgling sound.

  “Fuck! Martin, I’m sorry. I wasn’t tryi...”

  He stares at me and tries to say something as his blood sprays over me, joining the rest of the bloodstains on my uniform. He clamps a hand over the gaping hole in his neck. This creates enough of a seal on the wound for him to manage to croak out his last words.

  “You killed them...”

  His hand drops limply to the side and his eyes glaze over. He’s dead. I’m now the lone survivor, and apparently the killer of my entire squad.

  It all began with an insect the colour of dried blood.

  The squad had been marching for six hours, back towards base camp after a recon exercise out in the countryside. Apart from the Sergeant, they were all fresh from basic training and this was their first overseas posting. None of them were used to the heat of this almost equatorial country and they were suffering for it.

  Sergeant Kelly yelled “Moseley! Catch up, even Campbell is beating you.”

  “I only stopped for a piss, Sarge!” Moseley shouted back as he jogged to catch up with the rest of the men, zipping his fly up at the same time. “Cheeky cunt.” He murmured under his breath, but with a wide grin on his sunburnt face. This really wasn’t a great place to be ginger.

  Base camp was another day’s trek through tough terrain. They shared it with a Red Cross outpost and various civilian volunteer workers. This was a peaceful country; the natives appreciated the help they gave. It made this posting a good tester for newbies. After three weeks with these new recruits the Sergeant could see already who was going to love their army life.

  Lloyd Campbell certainly wasn’t going to. How he’d got through basic training Kelly wasn’t sure. He was struggling to keep up with the others. He was six foot two and, from what the other guys said about him, had nearly cried when he’d been forced to cut his chin length blonde hair and shave off his straggly goatee.

  Ryan, on the other hand, was one of the most dangerous men in a fight that the Sergeant had ever met. He might have looked young enough that he was carded in every pub they ever visited, but he was pure muscle and physically fit to go with it.

  Kelly checked his watch. It was nearly time to stop. A quick glance at the sun sinking lower on the horizon confirmed that it would be dark soon. The terrain ahead would be too dangerous in the dark. The clearing they’d just entered seemed like as good a place as any to set up camp for the night.

  “Right soldiers. We’ll set up camp here. Come on, get moving! You know what to do”

  The young soldiers moved with a practiced efficiency, setting up improvised lean-tos round the edges of the clearing. Davids, McMahon and Jackson rapidly built a small fire, McMahon cheating by pulling out a small gold coloured cigarette lighter. The fire wasn’t needed for heat in this country, but as a cooking fire for whatever meagre rations they would soon be eating. The nights were cooler than the days but still too hot for most of these guys who’d been brought up on council estates in the north of England.

  Kelly watched them with a sense of satisfaction. This was turning into a good little unit with the exception of Lloyd. He’d spotted the lighter McMahon had used for the fire but wasn’t too bothered. He’d done the same as a new recruit. He was almost impressed at the forward planning it demonstrated.

  “What are we having to eat tonight? We’ve almost run out of rations.” Lloyd Campbell’s high pitched nasal whine broke Kelly’s train of thought.

  “What do you think Campbell?” Kelly yelled. “Look round you, see if you can catch something!”

  This was one of Kelly’s favoured tactics with new recruits. He knew how many rations they needed for a four day trek like they’d just been on. But if they had enough food and all the right equipment then it wasn’t a proper test of a soldier’s worth.

  That was why he made sure they never had quite enough. It wasn’t strictly what the rulebook said but he didn’t care. This meant the men were guaranteed to learn more survival techniques and gain practical experience of living off the land.

  Nathan Tyson and Kyle Powell were already gathering fruit they had seen in the trees as they passed. Taliesin Davids and Gary “Zed” McMahon, having finished with the fire, were laying snares in the undergrowth.

  Kelly felt sorry for Davids. What kind of parents gave their kid a name like Taliesin? It was no wonder the kid was a geek. Still his brains seemed to have come in handy a few times on the expedition they’d just completed and there was no doubting that he was a lot stronger than he looked. He’d taken Campbell down easily in a wrestling match the previous night.

  McMahon was a grumpy sort. He missed being at home with his wife and kid but he’d get used to it. Maybe he’d even find advantages to being so far away from his family. Tyson was a great asset to the team. His only fault was the fact that if his nipples were any bigger they’d meet in the middle – hence his nickname, Nips.

  A scream broke Sgt Kelly’s train of thought again. Again it was Campbell’s irritating whiny voice. He looked in the direction of the noise and saw Lloyd dashing out of the bushes and quivering like a little girl.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you Campbell?” It was Moseley who’d shouted this, giving voice exactly to Kelly’s feelings.

  “In there” Lloyd pointed a shaking hand into the bushes he’d just rushed out of. “A huge insect!”

  There was a pause as the nine other men in the clearing absorbed what Lloyd had just said, and then they all burst into gales of laughter. Zed put a protective arm round Lloyd’s shoulders, “Did a big nasty creepy-crawly attack poor ‘ittle Lloydy-Woydy?”

  Lloyd glowered and stalked off toward the shelter he’d earmarked for himself. As he slunk off he pulled a notepad and pencil out of his pocket.

  “Poor thing,” said Powell. “He’s going to write a letter of complaint about us.”

  “Campbell! Stop where you are!” Kelly yelled as Campbell tried to escape into his sh
elter. “You’re a soldier now! What are you doing running away from an insect?”

  Kelly stepped into the bush Campbell had exited so quickly. Even he was taken aback for a moment when he saw the insect. It was huge, a good five inches long, about half that width and it was a dark red/brown colour. It looked like some sort of cockroach but fatter and much, much bigger. Its pincers were a couple of centimetres long and it looked like it could inflict a nasty bite if it wanted to.

  Still Kelly had a point to prove to the men, and especially to Campbell. He reached down and picked the thing up. It squirmed in his hand as he stepped back out of the bush.

  “Is this what you were so scared of Campbell?” He waved it in Campbell’s face and felt real pleasure as the private backed away in disgust. “This isn’t something to be scared of. This is a light snack if you’re so hungry! Here, have a bite!”

  He waved the insect once more into Campbell’s face, pushing towards the poor young man’s girlish lips. Campbell cringed and backed away towards his shelter.

  “Soft bastard.” Kelly hesitated for a moment, then raised the insect to his own mouth and took a bite, crunching though the carapace and into the soft tissues beneath. He’d eaten bugs before on active duty, but never anything this size. Normally you could just put it in your mouth and swallow without having to worry too much about it.

  This was easily the foulest thing he’d ever tasted. It had a bitter acrid flavour with an iron aftertaste of rotting blood. He grimaced and threw the remaining half of the insect on the fire where it sputtered and fizzled as it died. With a real effort he managed to suppress the gag reflex and swallowed the chewed up substance in his mouth.

  “See Campbell. That’s how you do it.” He turned away and looked for his bag. He needed a drink of the water that was in there. If he didn’t clear his mouth of the taste of that insect he was going to throw up. He discretely rubbed at his wrist where the damned thing seemed to have stung him.

  Private Tyson was the first to start laughing and he led the round of applause that followed Sergeant Kelly to his kitbag. Campbell failed to join in with the applause and completed the interrupted trip to his shelter with a sulk on his face.

  The next half an hour in the camp passed without any real incident. None of the snares that had been laid out seemed to have caught anything. Moseley, Davids and Tyson went out on a quick hunting expedition but had no real luck. They were about to give up when Davids made a grisly discovery.

  By the side of the path he found the dead body of a large rodent. It had been lying dead for a few days. There was a trail of blood leading behind it. Tal followed the trail into the undergrowth and stopped dead in his tracks. “Uh guys,” he said, “I think you should see this.”

  The other two soldiers followed him into a small copse just off the path. In the clearing were the remnants of the strangest battlefield any of them could ever have hoped to see.

  Lying all around were the rotting carcasses of scores of animals, big and small. There were wild dogs and rodents of assorted sizes. They were gathered together in clumps, some with jaws clamped on legs and necks of other creatures, some with stomachs ripped open and other animal’s snouts still inserted in the gaping holes.

  The stench was close to unbearable.

  “What the fuck!” Tyson’s exclamation summed up the thoughts of the others in three easy words.

  “I think we know why we’ve not seen any animals round here.” Tal said.

  “Shit.” Moseley nearly gagged at the smell. “I think we’re on fruit diet tonight. This is knocking me sick.”

  “Why would they all do this?” Davids knelt down to examine one of the creatures on the sidelines, some type of large vole. “It looks like this guy was one of the winners in the fight but it bled out and died anyway.” He poked it with a twig. “Shit!” he exclaimed “Look at its head.”

  Moseley leaned over to look at the dead thing on the floor. The flesh on its scalp had split open in a dozen places, the skull clearly visible beneath the discoloured fur. He turned away in disgust. “So what? It got its face cut open in the fight? It’s amazing anything walked even this far away from that.” He pointed into the mass of bodies.

  “No,” said Davids, checking a few of the other animals nearby, “This is wrong. These don’t look like claw marks”

  Nips shook his head. “Martin’s right. They’ve been out in the sun too long. They’re claw marks. They’ve been chewed on and all kinds. Let’s just get back to camp.”

  As the soldiers argued, they failed to see the insects that crawled out from the battlefield. Swarms of the red cockroach type things emerged from under various piles of bodies. These were much smaller than the specimen that the Sergeant had snacked on, an inch long at most. They were camouflaged well against the blood that coated the floor.

  They converged on the three men stood at the entrance to the clearing. What would have happened if Tal hadn’t kicked the dead vole in frustration can only be guessed at. Instead of moving to the sound of the raised voices, the streams of insects changed direction and followed the motion of the dead rodent, swarming over it in an apparent attempt to feed. As the streams met, they turned on each other, fighting for the morsel beneath.

  The noise of the pitched miniature battle attracted the attention of the three men. They stared at the insects ripping each other apart on the dead thing only yards from their feet.

  “Well it’s official.” deadpanned Tal. “I am now officially freaked out.” He grinned nervously at his two colleagues. “Let’s get back to camp.”

  The men slowly backed out of the clearing and ran back to the camp as fast as their legs, still exhausted from the day’s trek, would carry them. In the clearing the insects continued to kill each other, as blood crazed and lethal as the dead things they’d crawled out of had been.

  Back in the camp, Lloyd had recovered from his sulk and was gamely trying to keep up in a fitness test between Privates Gillott, Powell and Hargreaves. They were using a fallen tree for tricep dips, followed by press ups with the feet raised on the log. These were then followed by sit ups and yet more press-ups, but this time clapping the hands on each lift.

  McMahon sat by his shelter, shooting the breeze with Private Jackson. They were the two oldest of the new recruits and the only two parents in the group. They swapped baby photos and wagers on who was going to win the fitness test.

  Campbell had had enough and collapsed face down in a sodden mess of sweat on the floor. He slowly rolled onto his back and lay staring half at the sky and half at the muscular form of Ryan, still going strong with his press ups beside him.

  “You knackered already Lloyd?” Ryan laughed as he pushed himself off the ground and clapped before landing on his outstretched palms again. His baby-face glistened with sweat as he lowered himself to the floor, his short shock of jet black hair plastered to his scalp.

  Lloyd just nodded and lay still, trying to gather the energy to sit up and, eventually, to somehow move back to his shelter.

  The next one to drop out was Tom Gillott. He wiped the sweat from his brow and joined Zed and Warren on the sidelines. It would mean looking at baby photos for the dozenth time but he was exhausted. “I’ll have a fiver on Justin to win” he said.

  Kyle glanced over and flipped him the finger as he reached the top point of his sit-up. Tom winked at him and sat down. Almost instantly he had a picture in his hands and Gary was telling what “the Boy” had achieved at school last month.

  The sergeant watched the proceedings from his own shelter. He was waiting for the hunting party to return with some decent food. He was feeling remarkably tired. As soon as he’d eaten he was assigning the sentries for the night and going to sleep.

  He didn’t need to wait long for the hunting party to return. He listened to their cock and bull story about some kind of hell on earth for furry critters and an insect rebellion and asked them in his own creative ways if they thought he was born yesterday.

  Kyle and Ryan c
alled it a draw in the contest and watched with amusement. It was always fun to watch the sergeant tearing into one of the others. You had to be careful not to laugh out loud or his wrath could easily turn in your direction. Ryan couldn’t help it though and, when the sergeant screamed into Tyson’s face a particularly fine insult relating the size of his nipples inversely to the size of his IQ, he snorted with laughter.

  “Who was that?” Kelly snapped round to face the onlooking soldiers. When no one answered he grinned widely. “Ok,” he said, “if you’re going to behave like schoolchildren, I’ll treat you like schoolchildren. It’s bedtime. And since our friends here have brought us back no more supplies, we’ll all have to go without supper. Campbell, Tyson, and Moseley, you’re on sentry duty till oh one hundred. Powell, Davids, and Gillott till oh four hundred. Jackson, Hargreaves and McMahon, you’re on till dawn when we’ll get moving again.”

  Kelly watched the soldiers scatter to their respective shelters except for the three sentries who took up guard positions at different entrances to the temporary campsite. They had no ammunition in their guns, this was after all a practice exercise in a friendly country but Kelly insisted on running things like a true warzone as much as possible.

  Satisfied everything was fine for the night, he retreated to his own shelter. He checked the radio was still working and lay back on the earthen floor of his shelter, his head resting on his rolled up jacket as a pillow and was asleep in moments.

  Campbell was on sentry duty closest to the sergeant’s shelter. When he was satisfied the whole camp was asleep and he’d heard the sergeant’s breathing turn into a relaxed sleeping pattern he reached into the pocket on the left leg of his combat pants and pulled out a can of deodorant which he sprayed liberally under his shirt. The cold spray felt like luxury after the heavy exercise of the day so far. He put the spray back in his pocket and pulled out his notebook and pencil. There was enough light from the fire to allow him to work on his latest poem.