The Light Eaters
While running, Fink in a close second, reached out and latched onto Aaron’s shirt tale and drug him to a stop.
Aaron spun around. ”Are you crazy?” His eyes remained filled with terror as he gazed over Fink’s shoulder. “That thing could be right behind us.”
Fink tried to expel his words between hard gasp.
“Come on,” said Aaron.
Fink bent over and placed his hands onto his knees or support until his breathing slowed. He stood straight and pointed. “The path ends here.”
Spellman made a quick survey of the landscape. Less than ten yards away a bio-commotion of thick brambles covered with thorns. It appeared that its sole purpose was to ward off any intruder larger than a field mouse. Spellman walked over to it, reached out and touched the sharp tip of a briar, and cried, “Ouch!” He stuck his wounded finger into his mouth.
Fink shook his head. “What did you expect?” He turned away and peered at a shadowed opening in a tall grove of trees. “That looks like our only option.”
Spellman pulled his finger from between his lips. “I’m not going in there. Look how dark it is. We’ll never find our way through that. It reminds me of the movie, The Light Eaters. Believe me, Fink, if you ever saw that movie you wouldn’t ever want to go in a dark place ever again. The movie was great, it’s all about these little bugs--”
“Shut up, Spellman. I won’t stand here and listen to your review of some lame horror flick. You can stay out here in the open like a sitting duck or come with me.”
Spellman looked at the dark opening. His face became a caricature of worry as he tightened his lips and squinted his eyes like he had eaten something very sour. He looked back at Fink and shook his head.
Fink patted Spellman on his shoulder and said, “Okay, suit yourself and give the zombie my regards.” He turned and walked away, leaving Spellman standing alone like some iconic cheesy horror flick victim waiting for the inevitable to happen. Fink stopped at the edge of the trees and looked back at Aaron who remained a motionless statue beneath the pale moon light. Fink stepped into the conclave of shadows and was gone.
As Fink voyaged into the dark woods he lost track of time. He carefully placed one foot in front of the other to avoid the tripping hazards hidden in the shadows. Other than the beat of his heart in his ears and crunch of dry leaves beneath the soles of his shoes, a strange hush resided in the forest. Fink would have felt alone if it were not for the eerie sensation that he was being followed. He felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. He turned around and stared into empty darkness and pitch black stared back. A crunch sounded from the dark regions and startled Fink. His breath quickened, a tingling sensation spiraled up from the pit of his stomach and lodged in his throat. Fink cleared his vocal cords of the obstruction and spoke in a hoarse whisper, “Aaron?” Silence. “Spellman, is that you?” More silence. “Okay, who ever you are or what ever you are, I have a gun,” he warned, “and I’ll use it.” A snap, crackle, and a pop answered back. Fink whispered, “Oh great, it’s the Rice Crispy guys gone to the dark side.” He chided himself, “Okay, no time for bad jokes. It could be a wild animal,” he shivered, “or worse.” The muscles in his legs tensed as adrenalin pumped into his bloodstream.
Suddenly, the bushes next to the trail exploded as a hulking figure lunged from the vegetation striking against Fink’s body, sending them both sprawling to the ground. He felt hot breath brushing against the skin of his face. Hot breath that smelled of--Gummy Worms? “Get off me Spellman,” Fink shouted and he pushed Aaron off of him.
Spellman asked, “How did you know it was me?”
“Your Gummy Worm breath gave you away. You are the only fifteen year old I know addicted to Gummy Worms.”
“Oh,” Spellman replied sheepishly. “I got nervous standing out there alone and ate a whole pack.”
Fink stood up and brushed himself off. “Why didn’t you answer me?”
“I planned a surprise attack. It could have been the zombie pretending to be you so it could eat my brains.”
A devious smile surfaced on Fink’s lips. “I wouldn’t worry if I were you, Spellman. I don’t think it would bother you unless it was just looking for a snack.”
“Ha ha,” Aaron said. “Very funny.”
Fink finished dusting the dirt from his arms and said, “Besides, brain eating zombies are just a Hollywood tale.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Real zombies are living, breathing human beings that have been doped with a specific neuro-toxin,” Fink explained.
“What’s that?”
“It’s an engineered, synergistic blend of toxins found in nature that disrupts the brains higher functions such as reasoning, personality and logic. It’s used to produce a low functioning individual.” Fink paused and looked at Spellman. His devious smile surfaced again.
Spellman jumped up and pointed his finger at Fink. “Don’t say it Fink!”
Fink laughed, “Okay Spellman, I will dispense with the accusations that could forever become a parenthetical moniker attached to your good name.”
Aaron shrugged, “Whatever, man.” He nervously made a quick survey of the swampy surroundings. “This place gives me the creeps. Let’s get out of here.”
“Don’t be so impetuous,” Fink replied.
What little patience Aaron possessed for Fink quickly disintegrated and he hurled a reply that was barbed with anger. “On my God, Fink, why don’t you stop talking like that.”
He shrugged, “What do you mean?”
“Like you know more than everybody else.”
“What about you, Spellman?” Fink fired back. “You’re always trying to dazzle everyone with your moronic sense of humor. I’ll let you in on a little secret, everyone is laughing at you, not with you.”
“Okay Finkelstein, that does it.” Aaron raised a hand and pointed a finger. “You’re on your own.” He turned and stomped away.
A few steps into his journey Fink called out, “Wait a minute, Spellman.”
Taking long strides, Aaron stalked away.
“Spellman, I’m sorry.”
A clump of marsh grass rustled as Aaron pushed past it disturbing the long thin stalks.
“Hey Aaron.”
Spellman stopped. “This as the first time that Fink had ever called him by his given name. Aaron turned.
Can I tell you something?”
“What is it?”
“The reason why I joined the Teen Spirit Paranormal Investigators team.” There as a humble tone in Fink’s voice.
Aaron couldn’t ever recall Fink being meek, especially in a conversation with Aaron. Fink always a snappy comeback, and Aaron suspected that he was being set up for one this time as well. Spellman harrumphed. “I already know. Every team needs a skeptic.” He turned back around.
“No, the real reason.”
Curiosity seized Aaron and had him in its grip like a vice. To satisfy his inquisitive nature, he spun back around. “Okay, so why did you join?”
“First swear to me that you won’t tell the others.” Silence followed his statement that quickly turned into a spanning chasm of dead air.
“Okay, I swear.”
He bowed his head a brief moment and looked back up. “Before I met you guys, the only friends I had were in books.”
Aaron concurred with the statement with a nod because he understood. Everyone liked Fink. They liked to push him around, they liked to call him names, and they like to shove him inside his hall locker and jam the door closed.
“I never told my parents about the trouble that I had at school. They worried about my spending too much time alone and inside my own head was going to warp my mind, so they threatened to put me in one of those social adjustment classes if I couldn’t make friends on my own.”
“Don’t worry.” Aaron reassured him with a smile and as another reassuring gesture planted a hand on Fink’s shoulder. “Your secret is safe with me.” Aaron had had his own secret agenda for joining the group, but he wasn’t about to tell anyone and jeopardize his objective. He waded back through the vegetation and over to Fink. “So, what’s your plan to get out of here?”
Fink launched his plan with a toothy smile. “It’s simple. The train tracks run behind the cemetery and all we have to do is wait here until the midnight express comes through and sounds its horn at the railroad crossing.” Before the words could settle, Fink asked, “What do you think?”
A howl in the distance was followed by more howls. “Werewolves!” Aaron tugged his shirt collar close to his neck and looked nervously over his shoulder. He said, “Maybe not such a good idea, we should get moving.” Spellman was the first to hear the low guttural growl. He grabbed Fink’s arm.
A second later they were on the run again.
