Devoured

The great beast crawled its way out of the limestone cave behind him. It sniffed at the air. Things had changed since it was last outside. Its nostrils were filled with the smell of humans. Much more, though. Many more of them than ever before. It had been a very long time since it had been out in the air. How long had it been since it last smelled humans? It was intelligent, but the concept of time was lost to it.

The beast lifted its head and let out a loud call. It was a mix of a large bird (a kind of caw) and a roar. There was no return response. Nothing to indicate there were others like it around. Had it human emotions, this might have caused it concern, but it did not have such worries.

Slowly, it unfolded its wings. It felt good to stretch them, expand them, flap them in the cool night air. How long since it had last flown? Aeons, perhaps. Now it was awake and the need to fly was powerful. The only thing more powerful than the desire to move and fly was the hunger. The hunger was tremendous and it had to find something to eat, soon.

First thing’s first. It flapped its wings, testing them. Then took another walk forward a bit, all four legs feeling the hard ground beneath. Unsteady at first, still shaking off the hundreds of years of slumber, it got faster, then the wings flapped more steady. It caught the air, the wind. and lifted, gigantic and sleek in the night sky.

It soared, feeling free and strong for the first time in so many years. How long had it been confined? The air around it was cool, thrilling, alive with electricity and it stretched its sense as much as it did its wings. People. People were good for food. Large enough to fill its belly. Where were the people?

It caught a sense. Something in that direction. There were many people there, but so many of them were outside, just waiting to be picked off. They were no longer afraid of it, apparently. Time to change that feeling.

It banked hard to the right, then straight on. Although it was still hundreds of miles away, its keen senses could detect the glow on the horizon of the human’s area. It sensed the movement of so many human beings. It would have its choice of meals tonight. It flapped its wings, increasing height and speed. It would be in the human area soon.

***

Mark Dunning kicked off his shoes and stretched his arms over his head. It was dark outside, the sliver of the setting sun still visible from his penthouse apartment overlooking Chicago. He preferred the view toward the city rather than the lake. The lake was just a big empty nothingness by the time he got home. He liked to see the vibrant city below.

It was getting late, and he was used to the long work days. The long days had helped him get where he was today. The type of man to drive a fancy car and to be able to afford a fancy, expensive penthouse apartment on top of this very tall building. During the windy times, the entire place shifted beneath his feet and kitchen cabinets would open on their own, but it was a small price to pay for the view.

He tossed the purple tie he had been wearing all day over the end of the sofa. He walked to his bar and made himself a drink. Just some whiskey, two ice cubes. He took a quick sip, feeling the warmth run down his chest and throughout his stomach. Then he turned toward the sliding glasss door which lead out to the large outdoor area which was all his.

The wind was always strong, but there were plexiglass sections to keep it from blowing him right off the roof. The pleasant breeze blew back his hair. It was still early in the summer and in Chicago that meant it would be warm one day and freezing cold the next. There had been baseball games postponed here thanks to snow storms.

There was no hint of snow tonight, but it was cool. He walked to the edge of his outdoor area, getting as close as the plexiglass could let him. He pressed his head against it, looking straight down. Below him people and cars moved, little more than toys from this height. Straightening up, he took another drink. The whiskey was good and he felt better.

He lived a fast paced life in a fast paced world. His day-to-day work was spent in front of a computer, but also filled with meetings and phone calls. He arranged for huge business deals, saw them from the start through the finish. The results of his work was the fancy car, the nice clothes and the amazing apartment. Of course, it also meant he was alone. No wife, no kids. His own parents had died when he was young in a car crash. The apartment was big enough to house a family of four, and he had it all to himself. Most of the time, this never mattered, but sometimes he had nights where he wished he could share the evening with someone.

He looked out over the city, seeing the twinkling lights and listening to the sounds of the city. Car horns, the sounds of the El-trains and sirens. The music of the city filled his ears. He peered as far as he could into the distance. Ahead of him was the dazzling horizon with the very edge still showing traces of bright orange, then pink, then purple, dark blue and black. Overhead, stars were already peeking from behind their dark veil.

Mark took another long sip from his whiskey. This was what he had been working for his entire life. Here he was, literally at the top of everything, and still he was discontent. It had been a long day. Tomorrow would be a longer one with more meetings stretching late into the night. Maybe, he thought, I’ll get a chance to take a few of those from home.

Still, he had to admit this was beautiful. The sliver of the sunset still making the horizon dazzling colors. Overhead, the stars shining. Out there, before him. was the sparkle of the city and the noise to match it. The moon was up, too, not much more than a crooked grin against the blackness. Mark lifted his glass as if in a toast.

To the sunset.

To the moon.

To the stars.

To the city.

To the giant flying thing just above the horizon.

Wait, what?

Mark blinked. What the hell was that?

Of course, there were always airplanes. Chicago had two major airports and the traffic patterns often sent the planes around and near the downtown area. Most of the time you could sit and watch them all line up over the lake. However, in the distance, coming out of the sunset, but just a little off to the left, there was a large shadow flapping its way across the landscape. No blinking lights. No sound of roaring jet engines.

“What the fuck?” He actually asked out loud.

He sensed no danger. Not here in the city. There was danger down on the street, of course, but not up here. He was way too high. It was just weird.

Slowly, the shadowy shape banked, the giant wings catching the air and gliding. How far away was it? It was moving so that it was impossible to tell. No sound. Silent.

Surely this was just a trick of perspective. It had to have just been a bird. Maybe someone out there with some weird ideas about creating drones or kites or something. For all he knew, someone was making a movie. They were always doing shit like that around here these days. A few years back everyone living downtown got warned about explosions from one of the Transformers movies being filmed down here.

Mark drained his drink. He looked down into his glass, slightly bemused by the sight of this thing in the air. He sucked up one of the ice cubes and chewed absently. When he raised his head, the shadowy figure was much closer.

In fact, it was headed right for him.

And it was getting bigger.

Much, much bigger.

Mark blinked again. He put one hand up to his eyes and rubbed them emphatically. He was losing it, he thought. Too much work. Too much stress. Now he was hallucinating. When he opened his eyes, he saw nothing but red and other odd colors. When they faded, he screamed.

The flying thing was coming at him faster. From here, he could finally see what it was and when he realized what it was, the last of his sanity slipped more than a little bit.

The whiskey glass fell from his hands. Before it hit the ground, Mark turned to run. Behind him, after he had already taken three long steps, he heard the whiskey glass shatter against the concrete floor of the large outdoor area. His heart hammered in his chest and he kept his gaze on the door leading back into his house. However, as his hands reached out for the door, he could see the flying thing in the reflection of the glass.

He saw the large open mouth.

He saw teeth.

He saw the huge claws extended toward him.

It took up the entire background, the whole reflection behind him. Mark let out a scream, but the sound which returned from the thing behind him was much louder.

Mark had a moment to feel something slam into him with the force of a runaway freight train. Then he felt something squeeze his entire body, something large and sharp pierced his body.

There was no more screaming. There was no more anything. He never saw the large mouth descend towards his body. There was another bright stabbing sensation of pain.

Then everything went dark.

***

Below the penthouse where Mark Dunning was meeting his end, Carl Linslow shuffled along the street. He muttered to himself, something he had done for a long time now, ever since the hospital had put him on a street corner with nothing but a bag containing the clothes he arrived in and a few extra bucks given to him by a sympathetic orderly. From that day forward, Carl Linslow had lived on the street, usually among a number of folded cardboard boxes stuffed in the doorway of a long abandoned deli.

During the day, he spent his time on the street corner with a handwritten sign begging for change. Sometimes he would sing, but mostly he just looked down at his shoes and shook an old plastic cup to indicate where people should put their change. The money he earned was usually enough to get him a meal at night. Never enough to get him off the streets.

That was okay with Carl, though. He had a lot of friends in his head. He had had them since was in his early 20s. His parents told him he was schizophrenic and they had taken him to a lot of doctors and a lot of hospitals. Over the years, he had tried a lot of medications, but his friend were always there. Sometimes they were quieter than others, but always there.

“That’s what I said,” he told his friend. “I told her I was not going to take no shit. Not from her. Know what I mean?”

His friend assured him he did indeed know what he meant.

When the shadow crossed over the street, he was shocked. The sun was down, what the hell was that?

Carl looked up. The building he was beneath had huge bright lights near the top. So big, they cast their glow all the way down to the streets. Something had crossed in front of them for a moment.

Carl blinked. “Did you see that?” He asked his invisible friend.

His friend had not seen it.

Then came the screams, the sound of shattering glass, and some strange, loud sounds Carl had never heard before. He was tempted to run. There was no need to be here. No need to get involved in this.

The shadow came again. To Carl’s amazement something huge, with giant leathery wings, flapped its way into the night, right across his field of view. The horrible sound Carl could not possibly describe, came again. Then something fell from this shape.

Carl was so hypnotized by the shape flying away, he almost didn’t see the object falling to the ground. He moved out of the way, closer to the building, as the object fell. It hit the cement with a wet sound. Something wet also hit Carl in the face, spattered across his chest.

There was another one of those horrible sounds, but then it was gone, along with it went the sound of giant wings flapping.

“What the hell?” This time, Carl wasn’t even sure if he was talking to his group of invisible friends. “What the hell?”

Carl peeled himself from the wall, cautiously edging toward the object on the cement. It took him a few moments, and more than a few steps, to register what it was. It was the eyes that really gave it away.

It was a man’s head, left shoulder, and arm.

Carl didn’t want to talk to his friends. He didn’t want to talk to anyone at all. Instead, Carl just began to scream.

***

Margorie Lizbon adjusted her glasses and glared out the window. What the hell was going on out there? Those young punks who bought up the fancy condos which were sprouting up all over the South Loop were always too loud. They thought this place was some kind of party town and Margorie was sure to tell them they were wrong. She had been living in her apartment for more than 20 years and this was a nice part of town for decent people.

Margorie stood up and walked to her small balcony. It was adorned with dozens of plants and flowers. She even had a small herb garden which was her pride and joy. The stone building she lived in was modest when compared to the tower of glass and metal which had arisen like a nightmare across the street from her. Despite her protests to the local politicians and forming petitions, she stood and watched as what remained of her view was blocked by this enormous and unsightly building.

Whatever the noise was, it had come from there. Of course it had. Punks. Partying punks.

Margorie (Marge to her friends, what few there were), walked onto her balcony and heard more noise. Something loud that reminded her a bit of the L-train which was just down the street. No, not quite. Back in the 1970s, Marge had been walking down the Chicago sidewalks when one of the L-trains was struck by another train and several cars came crashing to the sidewalk below.

This sound was a lot like that.

Only much worse.

Marge looked up. Up and up and up. The building was so tall. It was impossible for her to believe someone actually lived at the top of this monstrosity, but someone did.

What she saw up there froze her 75-year-old blood.

The shape was gigantic. It was like something out of one the Japanese monster horror movies she remembered her husband enjoyed so much. It moved fast, vanishing over the edge of the building on what must have been some gigantic outdoor area belonging to the asshole who lived in the penthouse. She saw grayish skin, back legs, something that sort of looked like feathers on its back, giant wings which flapped lazily in the night sky. The body was huge, but the head hidden. She heard glass shatter, then a scream, then a horrific sound which nearly made her fall over backwards and back into her own apartment. The screams got louder, more high pitched, then another roar, then something distant, but clear even to her older ears. Crunching sounds.

“Oh my lord,” she whispered, staggered back into the apartment.

Her hand held to her mouth, eyes wide, Margorie saw something fall from the roof of the building, then more shadows moving, then heard another hideous roar. She didn’t see the thing fly away. She didn’t want to, because she was certain it would push her over the edge into total insanity.

Instead, she grabbed her phone. She still had a landline, but she had advanced as far to have a cordless. With shaking hands, she dialed 9-1-1. Actually, she mis-dialed the first time, hung up, and dialed again. Now there was someone else screaming out there, but coming from the ground. It took forever for someone to answer.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

At first Margorie could only stammer. “Mah-mah-mah. Muh-muh-muh.”

“Ma’am? Can you speak more clearly? What’s happening?”

Margorie took a deep breath, held it, closed her eyes and screamed into the phone. “MONSTER!”

She wanted to say more. She intended to tell the operator her address, what she had seen. At the very least, she wanted to tell the operator she had heard horrible screams and things falling from the roof. Marge intended to do all of those things,

In the end, she only did one thing after yelling.

She fainted dead away,.

***

By the time the 911 calls were sorted and someone had some idea of what was going on, the police took nearly two hours to arrive at the penthouse. By then, the phones were filled with people who saw something in the sky. They heard strange noises. There was screaming from above, then more screaming from the street and an hysterical homeless person.

There was also absolutely a severed head, shoulder and arm on the ground. Of that, there were a number of non-crazy-sounding witnesses and evidence which could be quickly verified.

The head and arm were now covered by a sheet. The cops had cordoned off most of the streets around the building. It was now nighttime, so they hoped the traffic would not be disrupted too much, but if things got worse than a severed head up there in the penthouse, then things might be closed off as a crime scene for a while.

There were six cops who exited the elevator along with a maintenance man from the building. They were in full tactical gear at this point. Although a decent portion of the body was on the ground and witnesses were certain whatever had been up there making all the noise was gone, there was also no evidence of a person walking out the front door. Whoever would chase a man around his penthouse apartment, sever his head, shoulder and arm, throw it over the side of the building, might very well still be inside.

They got to the door. All of them, maintenance man included, looked at each other. It had been decided they had ample probable cause to go in without announcing themselves. At the same time, the maintenance man had a key, so it would be easier do that than smash the door down.

They hoped.

One of the cops nodded, the maintenance man, with shaking fingers, eventually got the key into the keyhole and the stepped aside as fast as he could, covering his face. The cops twisted the knob and flung the door open. Guns drawn, including shotguns, they entered the room.

“Police!”

They received no response. No one ran for cover. No one charged at them with machetes or chainsaw or whatever would have to be used to chop a man’s head, shoulder and arm off. The entire place was quiet save for the footsteps of the police and the soft noise of a television which was facedown on the floor near the large window.

They moved through the living room, checking each corner, going room to room systematically. They found nothing. Most of the rooms didn’t look disturbed at all. The bed was neatly made. There were not overturned drawers or open wall safes. The bathroom was clean enough to eat off the floor and there was no open medicine cabinet or said medicine knocked to the ground.

Finally, they came back around to the living room. Here was some sign of violence.

The large window overlooking the outdoor area had been smashed to pieces. Glass covered the living room rug. The television and its stand were also fatalities of this. Outside, much of the outdoor furniture was smashed or had been tossed aside. A large section of the plexiglass which encircled the entire outdoor area was also on the ground.

There was a lot of blood, too.

Most of it was outside, pooled and congealing in one area. As the men moved closer, they also saw the bloody pools contained bits of hair, and pink fleshy things which would most likely be more chunks of the owner. Bits of fabric, which was later determined to be clothing, were caught in the broken window shards and the furniture.

“Jesus H. Christ, what the fuck happened here?” One of the cops asked, lowering his weapon. The others had lowered their weapons, too. It was obvious no one was here. Whoever had been had also been torn to pieces.

“Look at this,” said another officer, his voice quavering in a way the others had not heard before. “What the fuck?”

They cops approached the ground near the shattered patio furniture. The floor of the outdoor area was poured concrete. Perhaps not the strongest material on the planet, but much stronger than something a human being could rend asunder without the use of some kind of tool.

The concrete next to the shattered furniture had four deep grooves worn into it. The supports beneath were visible, and one of those had been torn in two. It looked very much like something had clawed it open.

“We better call somebody?” Said the cop who had spotted the marks.

“Who?” Asked another.

No one had a good answer.