CONQUISTADOR

FANTASMA

There was no moon that night, which made the jungle especially dark. Dark, but certainly not quiet. The jungles of the Congo were always noisy, but they truly came alive at night. Insects, birds, rodents. The whole area was teeming with life.

The camp, however, was completely silent. It was after midnight, and all the men had fallen asleep, a few of them shifting listlessly in their beds. The cooking fires had grown cold, the embers all but burned out. A stark contrast to the flurry of activity in the trees and undergrowth around the encampment.

Only two men were still awake, Moustafa and Gerard. Both from one of the digging crews, they had drawn the short straws for the second watch of the night. Three hours remained in their watch before they could retreat to the comfort and safety of their tents. The director of the expedition had told them to stay on opposite sides of the camp to cover more ground, but they preferred to stay close to one another as they surveyed the dark jungles around them. Especially after what they had all heard a few nights ago.

“Try to keep up” Gerard finally said, breaking the silence. “Let’s stay together.”

Moustafa followed a few feet behind him. “Needed water,” he said, patting the canteen strapped over his shoulder.

“It’s too cold out here,” Gerard continued, rubbing at his bare arms. “It should not be this cold in April.” It had been unseasonably cool the last few evenings. The days were still as warm and humid as expected, but the region cooled off considerably once the sun dropped over the horizon. The resulting mix between warm and cool air had created a thick fog that rose to a man’s waist, densely wrapped around the ancient trees and vines all around them.

Moustafa grunted in agreement.

Everything had felt a little unusual the last few days. Mishaps around the camp, equipment breaking down or going missing. And now the fog. Eerie. That was the word the director of the expedition had used. Downright eerie.

Gerard waited a moment for Moustafa to catch up with him. They continued on alongside the edge of the jungle, forming a ragged circle about 100 feet from the campsite. On the lookout for anything that seemed out of place.

Gerard had turned 23 years old a few weeks previously, and was always eager to show off his bravery among the others. But not tonight. Tonight he just wanted to be in his bed, away from the jungle around him. Besides, there was no sense in attempting to impress Moustafa. Nearly 20 years his senior, Moustafa generally seemed unimpressed by just about everything and everyone around him.

The silence between them made Gerard uneasy. “Did you hear the howl? The noise everyone is talking about? Some people say it was a monster.”

Moustafa nodded grimly, but said nothing. It was clear Moustafa didn’t plan on talking much, which set Gerard even more on edge. Two nights ago, most of the men in the camp were awakened by an unnatural scream coming from somewhere deep in the jungle. Many of these men had been living in or around the Congo all their lives, and they claimed they had never heard a noise like it. In truth, the men were shaken. Even some of the most hardened workers in the camp considered leaving after that. No one had talked about it much the last few days, but it was on everyone’s mind.

They continued further, stopping to investigate a few tracks in the dirt, but they looked to belong to nothing more than a couple of rats, drawn to the camp by the promise of food. Another hour passed, and fatigue crept in as they slowly made yet another circle around the outskirts of the camp.

Suddenly, they heard a rustling a few feet to their left. Dry leaves being crushed underfoot. Both men instinctively crouched and froze. Moustafa slowly drew his machete from the sheath at his waste. Gerard, sweating despite the cold, shakily did the same. Firearms were difficult to come by in the Congo, but everyone with any sense carried a knife with them.

They turned to the noise, and Gerard fumbled with the flashlight in his pocket. There was just enough starlight to enable them to navigate without it, but right now, Gerard wanted the light. He fumbled with the switch, and dropped the flashlight, sheepishly watching as it rolled toward Moustafa’s foot. Moustafa, still calm, bent down even further and snatched up the light. He turned it on. The light stabbed through the darkness and the fog around them. Moustafa leveled the flashlight at the shrubs a few feet away.

Two bright, unblinking eyes glowed back at them. A marsh mongoose. Tiny, furry, and completely harmless. With a bit of fruit clutched between his front paws, he stared back at the sentries, frozen.

Moustafa stood up to his full height once again. He found a small stone with the toe of his right boot, and sent it flying in the mongoose’s direction. The creature sped off, back into the dark recesses of the forest behind it.

Moustafa shook his head. He smiled.

Gerard laughed. He shook the nerves from his arms and legs, and clumsily replaced his machete back at the belt around his waist.

A sharp high-pitched shriek pierced the jungle all around them. Half between a moan and a scream, it was the most unnatural, unnerving sound either man had ever heard. Both men froze with fear. Gerard slowly backed away from the sound, promptly tripping over some exposed tree roots and falling on his rear.

“Wh-what… was that?!” he stammered, struggling to get up and dust off the back of his trousers. “Some sort of leopard?”

Moustafa faced the direction from which the shriek had come, machete held at the ready. He shook his head, never taking his eyes of the fog-shrouded trees ahead of him. “Not a leopard. That sound was from something… something else.” With his free hand, he switched the flashlight back on and pointed it further into the jungle. They stood there for a few seconds, Moustafa scanning the area with the flashlight, while Gerard cowered behind him.

“That sound must have woken everyone else up,” Gerard finally volunteered. “Maybe we should go back to camp, and get some of the others…”

“Whatever it is, it is close by. Let’s find it now.” Moustafa walked cautiously but purposefully toward the trees, all the while keeping the flashlight ahead of him and his knife at the ready. Moustafa’s skin was even darker than Gerard’s, which made him more difficult to see in the moonless night. The fog almost completely enveloped him within a few paces.

Gerard was unable to move, alone in the rain forest. He could go back to camp, seek safety with the others. Or he could follow his comrade into the unknown. He was nearly petrified with fear.

“Moustafa?” he whispered at first. No response.

“Moustafa!”

Gerard thought of his family, his mother and father hundreds of miles away. How he longed to be anywhere but here. Much like many of the others, he had been lured here by the promise of decent working conditions and a good salary, but the expedition had been a disaster from the start. Why hadn’t he listened to his parents?

Just then, he heard an agonized shout from the jungle. Not the creature, but a man’s shout. Moustafa. Gerard called to him once again. Still no response.

He thought of the men at camp, and the shame he would feel when they learned he had abandoned Moustafa. Gerard struggled to control his breathing, and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. He mustered what little courage he had remaining, unsheathed his knife, and followed after Moustafa’s path.

He stepped slowly, cautiously, around the trees. The fog only seemed to get thicker the further he traveled into the surrounding forest. As he crept forward, the trees around him grew quiet. No more movement from the animals, birds, or insects around him. He was alone in the silent dark.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, Gerard saw the faint glimmer of the flashlight ahead of him. He moved faster now, eager to close the gap between Moustafa and himself. As he drew closer, he found the flashlight, lying in the mud, pointed up toward the trunk of a massive mahogany tree.

Where was Moustafa?

The jungle around Gerard remained still and silent. He felt his heart begin to beat even faster, and it became nearly impossible to control his ragged breathing. He bent down and picked up the flashlight. Slowly, he pointed the light in the shrubs and undergrowth around him.

Moustafa was lying in the mud, unconscious. Gerard crept toward him and crouched down to check his breathing. He was still alive, but barely. He put his finger to Moustafa’s neck to check for a pulse. When he pulled his hand back, it was covered in blood.

Gerard jumped back. His fingers slippery with blood, mud, and sweat, he struggled to point the flashlight down at Moustafa’s torso. His shirt was nearly ripped to shreds, and he found three long, parallel cuts from his right shoulder down to his left hip. The deep cuts oozed with blood as Moustafa unsteadily clung to life.

And then Gerard heard the scream again. Louder now, and even more terrifying. He covered his ears as he fell back into the bushes, next to Moustafa’s body. The flashlight rolled into the shrubs beside him. Panicked, Gerard looked all around him for the source of the horrible wail. The bushes around him remained still and silent.

Gerard heard movement in the tree above him. Slowly, his eyes scanned up the trunk of the tree towards the foliage above.

Then he saw the creature. It was merely a silhouette, bathed in the starlight above him. It looked like a man, but larger, crouched in the trees. Staring down at Gerard with a pair of glowing, red eyes.

The creature shrieked a third time, and Gerard covered his ears and clenched his eyes shut. With the last of his strength, he pushed himself up and over Moustafa’s body and ran back toward the camp, stumbling over stones and branches along the way. Despite all these obstacles, Gerard ran faster than he ever had. He was running for his life.

“Kongamato!” he screamed as he drew near the campsite. “Kongamato!”

“Kongamatoooooo!”

Part One

PERDIDO