Okon - Monsterland

The Everglades

T he fire Billy created burned bright; rabbits roasted on a spit made from hickory, the juices dripping to hiss in the flames. Seven of his hairy friends lay in scattered repose, enjoying the late afternoon lulltwo napped, the others tossed a stuffed fur in the form of a ball around the clearing, hooting with amusement when it rolled into the brush. They traveled in a pack, his group, his makeshift family, foraging together, hiding in plain sight. It had been that way for generations. But the glades were getting smaller, the humans invasive .

Mosquitoes droned lazily over the still water. Frogs croaked while they sunbathed on waxy lily pads. The sun started its slow descent to the horizon, hot pink and lilac clouds rippling against the empty canvas of the sky. Here and there, fireflies lit the gloom, doing a placid ballet in the humid air .

Unseen, the men moved closer to the campfire as the sun sank into the western treetops .

A lone hawk cried out a warning, disturbing the peace of the glade. Huge birds answered, flapping their wings, creating a cacophony of swamp sounds. The area became a concerto of animals responding to the disruption of their homewild screams, squeaks, and complaints of the invasion of their territory .

Billy stood, his head tilted as he listened intently. He heard a melody, that strange organization of sounds, predictable as well as dangerous. It had been years since hed heard music. His stomach clenched with uneasiness. Where those rhythms originated meant only one thingthey were not alone in the swamp .

His pack rose, tense and alert, their eyes watching the waterway. Billy silently parted the thick leaves to expose a flat-bottom boat with dangerous strangers floating slowly toward them .

The boat was filled with people, excitedly searching the banks of the swamp, their expensive khaki bush clothes ringed with sweat .

Little John, Billys best friend, leaned closer and whispered, Tourists ?

Billy noticed the rifles before the rest of the group. He held up his hand signaling for silence. Not tourists. Enemies, he replied .

Mens voices drifted on the turgid air .

This is no good, Billy thought furiously. He was gauging the time, his eyes opening wide. It was late. They had to get out of there. Its going to happen, and those people are going to see it .

The bald top of the moon peeked over the line of trees in the south, the sky graying to twilight with each passing second. Night came fast in the swamp, dropping a curtain of darkness, extinguishing all light except for the beacon of the full moon. It continued to float upward, indifferent to the consequences for its innocent victims .

A halo of lighter blue surrounded the globe, limning the trees silver, the cobwebs in the branches becoming chains of dripping diamonds in the coming night .

What do these strangers want? Billy fought the urge to scream. This is our home. Humans dont belong in the swamp .

The moon continued to rise, the familiar agony beginning in his chest. A full moon, a dangerous moon. Billy fought the demons churning within his body, feeling the pain of metamorphosis .

He curled inward, hunching his shoulders, the curse of his nature making his spine pull until his tendons and muscles tore from their human positions to transform into something wicked .

A howl erupted from his throat, followed by another, and then another. Grabbing handfuls of dirt, he tried to fight the awful change, but, as the sun set, the moon took control of his life, and the unnatural force tore through his unwilling body .

Reason fled, his heart raced. Falling on his hands and knees, Billy let loose a keening cry as his face elongated, his body changing into a canine, fangs filling his mouth. He raced in a circle in a demented dance, knowing his fellow pack members did the same thing .