Walk Within The Lightning

 

The car smelled; the stench overwhelming. The distinct scent of rotten meat assaulted my nostrils, threatening to bring up my dinner.  Trying not to be conspicuous, I leaned my elbow on the armrest and covered my nose.  Earlier, the smell didn’t seem quite as strong, but now with a storm brewing outside, the rolled up windows sealed in the stench.

I couldn’t get away from it.

When he spoke, he didn’t bother looking my way. “I left a sausage biscuit under the seat for four days. I still haven’t gotten the smell out.”

A sausage biscuit?  It reeked like a four-day-old corpse.  Of all human weaknesses, this irritating sense of smell I despised the most.  The rain had yet to begin, but in the distance, silent strikes of lightning sizzled the angry sky.  I jumped in my seat.  Making things worse, on nights such as these, my grandmother’s superstitions tended to haunt my thoughts.

“When lightning comes before thunder and rain, hide yourself girl,” my grandmother would tell me. “That’s when he comes.”

“Who is he Grandma?”

“His name is evil,” she said. “The souls of those he has claimed walk within the lightning. They chase him, setting the sky ablaze, desperate to reveal him, before he can harvest another.”

“What if I see him? Should I run?”

“If you see him, child, it’s already too late.”

“Is he a bad man?”

Lowering her voice, she gripped my arm, pulling me closer. “Yes, but some say he’s a demonic spirit, wrapped in human skin, living and breathing among us—hiding.”

I never dismissed my grandmother’s superstitions because I knew them to be true. She wasn’t just trying to scare me shitless—Granny had her reasons.  When the disjointed silence haunts that space between lightning strikes, her stories come back to prey on my fears.

The lightning betrays his empty eyes; lays bare his monstrous soul. He fears it, because you’ll know it’s him; his teeth are stained black, his lips crusted with blood, and his cheeks, gorged with the rotten flesh of the dead.

Now I live in fear of the lightning as well.

“I think the storm might blow over,” the man by my side said, interrupting my thoughts. Leaning forward over the steering wheel, he peered toward the churning sky. “No rain.  Maybe we can take a drive out to Possum Creek.”

“At night? I hear that place is haunted. Things happen there—”

“I’ll keep you safe.”

A deviant smile parted his lips, speaking the words he neglected to utter. Foul intent bled from his pores, its stench thickening the already putrid air.  This time, I took a deep lingering breath and held it.  This scent—this unmistakable cloud of malice—was something I lived for.  He flicked his tongue across his lips, coating their bloated surface with slimy anticipation.  My first impression was spot on.  This one was nasty.

I didn’t know his name—and I didn’t care.

I’d been thirsty tonight. The bar was a piece of shit hole in the wall but it gave me a little warmth from this sporadic rain, not to mention a good rum and coke.  I wasn’t afraid to drink alone—in fact, I preferred it.  Many men often vied for my attention, yet something in my eyes always drove them away—but this one was different—he never looked me in the eye.  He thirsted for other things, and I knew that tonight—he was the one.

Rapists, killers and thieves ran rampant in this part of the city. The thought sent excitement skipping along my nerves.  His presence brought with it the anticipation of the hunt: fight or flight, the adrenaline rush, the thrill of discovering who is the hunter and who is the prey.

The car edged off the road and crawled into a dense canopy of trees; twigs snapping beneath balding tires, branches scraping lines in the rust-covered doors. The car finally lurched to a stop behind a curtain of deep shadowed foliage.  The headlights clicked off and the forest went black.

“This isn’t Possum Creek. Where are we?” I asked.

His deep throaty chuckle rattled the review mirror. Leaning across the seat, he wound his fingers into my hair, pulling my face close to his.  He closed his eyes, nuzzling his nose against my neck.

“Don’t worry about where we are.”

Flashes of brilliant white illuminated the thick blanket of night. Choking on the scent of electrified air, I coughed, trying to clear my throat.

But he couldn’t smell it.

Pulling in a long deep lungful of air, he murmured, “I love the lightning.” His breath came hot and fast on my skin. Sliding his hand around my throat, his fingers tightened, increasing pressure with his growing excitement. “So warm, so vulnerable, so alive.”

So alive.  His ominous words filtered through the roar in my ears.  My disappearing breath summoned my strength and I broke his grasp, shoving him away.

He leaned back, as if he’d been slapped. Hard cold eyes scraped down my body, his lips curling into a snarl, “Did you think we came out here to hold hands?”

His pompous anger amused me, and it was my turn to laugh.  But he was right, I had different plans for him.

Lightning flashed, transforming his features; his narrowed eyes now bulged from their sockets, his sneering mouth stretched wide, lips locked in death’s silent scream.

Fear changes a man.

Behind him, the window reflected my hollow dead eyes. From between my blackened lips, human flesh protruded both fresh and long dead, oozing decay, smacking against my chin.  I slurped the bloody mass back inside my mouth, engorging my cheeks.

And I smiled.

The sky wailed, defeated and bleeding despair. Grief blistered the earth with the tears of the dead.  Once again, those in the lightning had failed.  Tonight I feed, but tomorrow I’ll hunger for more.  Maybe one day they’ll stop me, or even destroy me, but for this one, it’s already too late.  I devoured his flesh and threw his soul into the sky.  Now he’ll walk behind me as well.  But Granny was only half right.

The demon beneath this human skin may not be a man, but I do live in fear of the lightning.

-K.R.Rowe

Find me at KRRowe.com and on Twitter @KRRowe.