by Paul Emil
I wanted to think that there were Scottish viewers supporting me. I was one of their own, and I couldn't imagine they'd be rooting for the monsters to successfully slaughter me.
In my mind, anybody Scottish was behind me. I was representing my country. If I succeeded, they could be proud of my toughness. I would be an example of our Scottish tenacity.
Only I wasn't. I hadn't been exceptionally smart or strong. In fact, I was so weak now I could barely move.
I lay on my back staring at the stars and the other mystery lights. My vision blurred as tears filled my eyes. I was so sorry I had participated in this abomination. By being a part of it, I was helping create content for this show and the sick bastards who got off on this type of thing. While I hadn't brought the monsters to Scotland, I was feeding them. Feeding the creatures, and feeding the audience’s appetite for mayhem.
The producers couldn't have the show without volunteers, right? Then again, maybe they could. This was like the death penalty. I remember thinking I had a choice, but it was more like the illusion of choice. Whatever it was, I shouldn't have gone along with it. It wasn't even the likelihood of a gruesome death that made it wrong. It was about the insult of the producers infecting my country with this evil.
As I lay there, bleeding, hurting, hungry, and losing my mind and probably my life, I was disgusted. I was disgusted with my weakness, with the show, with the violence, and with everyone connected to this nightmare. I was repulsed by the monstrosities that were let loose in my country. With my last ounce of strength, I cried, "Oh Scotland, I am so sorry.”
17
A snapping branch jolted me awake. Slowly, I looked around. I spied a few stray fireflies, but the main light show was over. I had no idea how long I'd been out. I remembered a fading fragment of a dream, which told me I'd really been out. I had no idea for how long. At this level of exhaustion, I practically entered the dream state as soon as I closed my eyes.
Another stick snapped. This one sounded closer. I rolled on to my stomach and flattened out against the ground, facing the direction of the approaching noise.
My eyes were adjusting to the night. The full moon was so bright I could see the hard shadow I cast on the ground. My eyes scanned the dark tree line.
Then I saw it.
There was a shadow there, something blacker than the surrounding blackness. I couldn't tell if it was moving. I thought it did, but it seemed to be in the same place. It could have been a trick of the light.
I thought I saw the shape sway. Seeing things, I think.
By the way the object remained in place, I was almost convinced I was looking at tall, thin tree stump or something. Then two long "branches" sprouted off of it. The ends of those uncurled into long fingers with claw-like nails.
Oh God. It's that thing. It found me. My heart pounded in my ribcage like a frantic animal that wanted out.
I heard tiny twigs get mashed as the thing took a step forward, and then another.
My “fight or flight" instinct jammed in the middle of the two options. There was nothing to fight with, and nowhere to run. My fingers dug into the damp grass. I clung to the grassy knoll as if it were the hump of a large animal that might suddenly buck me off. I felt around for a weapon and came up with nothing. I felt naked and vulnerable. I was weak and out-of-shape and completely unprepared to deal with the threat.
Damn, I thought. They tricked me and I totally fell for it.
It was all so clear to me, now that I was looking out from inside the trap.
I thought the lights were a sign of safety. They reminded me of the "faerie mound" in the field in back of the home I grew up in back in Skye. The lights were reassuring. They were beautiful. However, "beautiful" does not always mean "good." I used to scoff at guys who couldn't tell the two apart. But there I was. I'd fallen into the same trap. I felt like an idiot.
The moonlit meadow looked beautiful, like a night gallery lit with paper lanterns and Christmas lights. Only now I knew what the lights really were. They weren't faeries, at least not the type I had hoped for. The lights had many names: Hobby Lanterns. Ghost lights. Will-o'-the-Wisp. The stories varied, but the point was the same. The lights led nighttime wayfarers astray. They offered the illusion of safety while in reality, they were leading a traveler into trouble.
That was exactly what happened to me. I was lost and the lighted meadow had looked like a welcome refuge from the darkness. But now I saw the other side of it. The trickery had drawn me out into the open. Where I had once felt free from the trees, I now was now completely exposed.
Doom. That’s what this was. Death was so certain I breezed past the denial, anger, and bargaining stages right to acceptance. Almost. I pondered with quiet amazement the idea that right now, at this moment, I was alive, and soon, maybe in minutes, I wouldn't be.
The monster drew itself up and raised its head like a dog trying to catch a scent in the air. I couldn't see its nostrils flaring or its black eyes moving, but I could make out the something blacker than the surrounding blackness growing larger on its face. It was the huge mouth, now gaping open.
The monster swayed in different directions, then it slowly turned and stopped, facing the top of hill. As its giant maw opened, tingling fear squirmed down my spine. My brain was filled with only one thought.
I am so screwed.
18
“Boo-yah!” burst Assistant Director Kent. “The Bogeyman found Moira!”
He turned to the director. Ziegler never took his eyes off of the enormous bank of video monitors in front of him, but from his profile, Kent could see a smile on his lips too. That was good. Ziegler hardly ever smiled, but he was clearly pleased with the turn of events.
“Looks like we’re close,” the AD said.
The director said nothing but gazed at the monitors. The visions varied dramatically. A lonely castle stood sentinel over a dark Scottish loch. Moonlight stirred on rippling water. A deceptively peaceful field spread under a gaping sky. A bonfire burned by ancient stones. Moira clung to a hilltop. A monster lifted its head in the air, trying to pick up a scent.
“TD!” the director shouted to the technical director. “Bring up Sector 10, now!”
The videos of the “hot” situation expanded and moved to the center of the wall of screens.
The director commanded the control room like a general, and the room responded to his orders.
“TD! Ready Moira’s live cam. I want everyone to see what she sees at the moment she dies. And I want to make sure we get a good kill shot.”
Good? The technical director thought incredulously. Then, almost under her breath, she muttered, “It’s just not right.”
The AD smiled like an adult amused by a child and said, “What’s wrong?”
“The thing. She shot it and burned it. It should be dead.”
“But it’s not,” Kent said.
“It’s not fair,” the woman said, standing by her conviction.
Kent replied, “Was it fair for her victims?”
“Knock it off! Both of you!” yelled the director. “Get your head in the game! Ready the night vision cams!”
Moira watched the monster. It sniffed the air, moving its head in different directions, when it froze and then slowly faced the top of the hill.
“Night vision on Camera 8! Ready 8! Take 8!”
In the grainy, black-and-white night vision view, the monster’s face almost resembled that of a great white shark. Its black, pupil-less eyes blinked and it opened its enormous maw. Kent could almost swear it was smiling.
The director was shouting more orders. The assistant director had never seen him so excited.
“That’s it! He’s spotted her! Get ready everyone! This going to be awesome! Ready 3! Take 3!”
The monster started moving towards Moira. Its dark shape moved across the moonlit meadow. The staff of the control room leaned in closer to the screens.
Suddenly, there was a flash of light. Then another. Then the main screen
went blank.
“What? What the hell? Ready 1! Take 1! TD, what happened to Camera 3?”
“I ... I don’t know. It just went off-line.”
The image on the big monitor was shaking. The vision of the earth and sky zipped out of view. There was a sound of breaking glass, and the screen went dark. Camera 1 was gone.
“What!? What the hell is going on?” Ziegler yelled.
Cameras in that zone were going out one-by-one. They blinked out, leaving dark “holes” in the wall of monitors.
“Engineering! What the hell is going on?”
“We’re ... We’re looking into it, Sir.”
“You’re ...? Ready the Hover-Cams! Get them to Sector 10, NOW!”
On screen, a cloud of darkness parted to reveal a moonlit forest far below that grew increasingly larger and more detailed.
The director was momentarily calmed.
“Good,” he said. “Take Hover-Cam!”
The video looked like the view from a descending alien spacecraft.
“Ready Thermals on 9!”
The forest turned bright blue with two large red specs in it.
“That’s them!” AD said.
“Thermals off! Take 9!” director shouted.
The main monitor displayed a bird’s eye view of the meadow. One black figure was approaching a smaller one.
Suddenly, bright streaks shot across the screen, as if the hovering camera were taking anti-aircraft fire.
There was a popping sound. The earth suddenly rushed up in a blur to fill the screen. Then everything went black.
After a moment of shocked silence, AD offered, “Um ... Sir? We lost the hover ...”
“I can see that, dammit! Engineering! What the hell? What’s left? Where’s Moira’s live cam?”
The AD nervously said, “Um, she chucked it.”
“She ...? Goddammit! This is the finale! Give me every camera we’ve got in the area!”
The monster was approaching. Moira was on her feet.
In the night vision camera, the air around the hill seemed to be abuzz with bugs, like a field on a hot summer night.
Bursts of light would temporarily blind the night vision cam, but then again, it didn’t take much light to do that.
The monster was at the base of the hill. A new hover cam showed Moira’s view as the thing looked up at her, arched its back, and roared at the sky.
The TD shuddered.
“God that’s creepy,” said the AD.
“It’s great,” the director sighed in relief. “It’s ... OH GOD NO!”
The new hover cam went out.
“I NEED THIS ON CAMERA NOW!”
Terrified the end of the story wouldn’t be recorded, he grabbed whatever shots from every camera still working in the area. He settled on a wide shot of the moonlight meadow, barely seen through the forest trees. You couldn’t see the action, but you could hear it.
Moira was yelling, “GET AWAY FROM ME!” Then she was shouting something that couldn’t be made out. The monster shrieked. Moira’s voice sounded more like a war cry than a scream. The monster roared in rage. Then it sounded like it was howling in pain!”
“I NEED THIS NOW! I NEED THIS NOW!” Ziegler screamed.
“Sir, a new hover cam is ...”
The director saw the camera rapidly descending on the scene. The view was blurry and out of focus. He didn’t care. “Take hover cam!”
Like a missile locking onto a target, the hover cam found the ground and the blurry, shaky view of the hill came into focus. The spindly monster seemed to be entangled and struggling in a strand of colorful Christmas lights.
The beast was shaking. Then it started sparking.
“What the ...?”
Then, with a final cry of rage and pain, the monster exploded.
The aerial camera view shook from the shock wave. Bright light illuminated the faces of everyone in the control room as they peered at computer monitors or watched video screens. Most of the people jolted and fell back in their chairs as if they had been blown backwards by the blast.
“Whoa,” Kent gasped.
The director slumped backwards into his chair, exhausted, relieved, and happy. He was out of breath, and the sweat secreted out him as his breathing and heart beat slowly returned to normal. He looked like a man in the afterglow of an orgasm achieved after a session of strenuous sex.
Like a co-pilot taking over for a pilot, the AD looked at the director and then assumed control.
Two more hover cams had entered the area, providing some shot variety. The AD ordered one to get a close-up on the flaming remains of the monster, and the other to get a shot of Moira.
The director didn’t protest. His AD was doing his job right by practically reading his mind.
A good show was about storytelling. What made for a good ending? The end of conflict.
Now they had the two shots that showed the end of the story. This was a particularly good episode. Just between Moira and the forest monster alone, there had been a build-up, conflict, a re-match, and a final battle. There was a clear winner. And a clear loser. The remains of the monster were now scattered around the site like a group of tiny campfires.
Moira stood on top of the hill like the victor of some savage battle. The fires in front of her reflected in her stare. There was a look of shock, disbelief, and something bordering madness in her glazed-over eyes.
Her body and her face were splattered with blood, probably both hers and her opponent’s.
“There,” Kent said approvingly. “That shot is money.”
The camera zoomed in on Moira until her face filled the screen. Moira MacMillan: blood-splattered, filthy, exhausted, and triumphant.
–––––
Maximilian Cain burst into the control room. Everyone’s posture instantly improved.
“Ziegler! Talk to me! What the hell just happened?”
The director, who had regained most of his composure, sat up straight, and simply said, “We got it.”
“What?”
“The fight. The explosion. The finale. We’re good.”
“Yes, I know you got the explosion! I just watched it! What I want to know is, what the hell was that? What just happened?
“Well, we had technical difficulties with the cameras in the area.”
“‘Technical difficulties?’”
“Um, yeah. Light streaks, lens flares, or something. We think it’s moisture affecting the chips in the cameras. Or an electrical disturbance. Ball lightning or something. Damn wet country.”
“And you think that brought down the hover cams?”
Satisfied with his work, Ziegler discovered he was less intimidated by the boss and more irritated with this line of questioning. “I don’t know. Ask engineering.”
Cain stared at him and said, “And what about the monster? Was it supposed to blow up?”
“No.”
“Then what the hell happened?”
The director looked at the AD and TD, and then back at Cain. He hated saying, “I don’t know,” so instead, he paused and said, “We think Moira had a grenade. One of Marine’s, probably. It’s the most likely explanation.”
Cain looked at Ziegler, then back at the monitors. Moira was still standing on the top of the hill, looking down at the smattering of small fires and gore were all that remained of the monster’s body.
Finally he said, “That was wild. The frantic pace, the quick cuts, the shaky cam, the crazy camera angles. You could barely make out what was going on. Your brain had to fill in the details.”
He sighed. “That was out-of-control.”
“Sir, I ...”
“I loved it.”
Everyone stared at Cain.
Cain laughed, “Relax! I’m breaking your balls! I loved it!”
The control room seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief.
“That was awesome,” he said. “And you’re telling me that was all real? I don’t like the fact that we’r
e having technical problems, but the bottom line is it worked. The ratings are going to be incredible!”
On the screens in the background, Moira fell to ground and slumped over.
Kent shouted, “Med-lab! Status on Moira!”
A technician called back, “Vitals are stable. Blood loss is minimal. No fever. EEG shows alpha waves turning to theta. She’s falling asleep.”
The room seemed to exhale another sigh of relief.
After a moment, the director called out to the crew.
“OK, AD. What have we got left?”
Kent looked at his computer and said, “We’ve got the witches near the watch tower. Then there’s the banshee, but Moira’s got her protection amulet against ghosts. We’ve got wolves in the woods. And the werewolf. And ...”
“No,” said Maximilian Cain, effectively ending the discussion. “No more monsters. Whatever nasty things you have still roaming around out there, call them off. All of them. We still need runners for future episodes. Nobody’s going to volunteer in the future if they saw how hard this girl fought and she still dies.
“Also, I can’t wait for the exit interview. We have to hear her side of the story. The Bogeyman had a lot of defenses. We need to hear how she blew it up.”
Cain, took in a deep breath and exhaled, satisfied with his decision and with the results of this whole effort in Scotland.
“We have a winner,” he said. “Moira MacMillan is our new champion. She’s done. Bring her in.”
19
When the monster exploded, I cried out in shock.
What now? It breathes fire?
I was surprised, yet at the same time, I wasn’t. I couldn’t predict anything anymore.
I froze and watched the scattered, flaming remains of the monster. The moon stared down at the scene. Wind blew through the grass and the trees. A few stray streaks of light zoomed past. Then they were gone.
I stood there until my breathing and heartbeat slowed to normal. After a while, I started thinking, Nothing’s happening. It’s not attacking. In fact, I think the attack’s over. I think it’s gone. Could the explosion have been an accident? It feels ... unintentional. Maybe the monster stepped on a land mine. God, are there land mines out here?