The Things We Are

Flash Fiction - Supernatural

Greetings, Talebones Readers…

Today I bring you a wee piece of flash fiction!

I’m calling it “flash fiction” partially because it’s short (I wanted to keep it around 1,000 words) and also because it was written expressly as an exercise, a quick trip to the creative gym, as it were. I wrote it fast and I’m publishing it even faster. 😂

Just a fun little ditty, a quick read over coffee or a snack. I hope you enjoy!

If you like this little story, and you want to see more like it, please let me know with a like, comment, share, or restack!

And for more fiction fun of various shapes and sizes, subscribe for free!

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Photo by Benjamin Davies on Unsplash

We do not have long. We were made for a purpose.

We were birthed out of the stone and the deep water, the cracked veins of the earth, and strode on two strong legs apiece.

As we slipped from the rocks, we looked at each other—so funny!—and laughed at the strange shapes we took. We had faces, ears, eyes. We had two strong legs and two strong arms. We had coarse darkness around us, needles like a tree, giving us a softness, a texture.

Fur and flesh. What fun!

It had been a very long time since we took shape, so we danced proud in our new skin, large four-toed feet creasing the dust and leaving evidence of our passage, and it was a joy to gambol in the summer sun. We had no words between ourselves—we did not need them—but we could whistle and howl with our newborn lungs, and we did so, and we climbed the trees and sipped the sweet creekwater and scented the pine-good air. It was play, and it was joy.

But we were made for a purpose, and the mountain, our mother, whispered up through our heavy soles: You do not have long. Go!

So we followed her trembling finger of rage to the place where the devils were.

They had made a small dwelling in the narrow valley, the fresh timber still bloody with sap and screaming for its severed roots. Sometimes smells would come from the dwelling’s tall black iron throat—smoke, and the devils’ own acrid food. When the sun was high they would leave the dwelling only to do whatever dark work devils do, using blades to cleave the stones and steal the golden blood from our mother’s veins. What they did with it, we did not know. And when the sun descended, they would return to the dwelling to eat their rot-sweet food and sleep.

We watched them from the trees for a long time. They did not have our sense of smell, our good ears, our deep-set eyes. They did not see or sense us until we decided to play games with them.

We would whistle our strong whistles and howl our beautiful howls, and the devils would come hunting for us with their weapons that flash fire. What fun! The fire would pass through us without harm and we would run, hoping they would give chase. But they could not keep up with our long legs and our large feet. They would shout and gibber among themselves, plot and scheme.

We carried on like this for a while. It was good to play, and we would have played forever if we could. But our mother whispered through our soles: You do not have long. Avenge me!

So, one night, we crept up to the dwelling, surrounding it—for we were many—and let all of our mother’s rage fill us, for the theft of golden blood and the pain of the devils’ work and the screaming timber. We took up stones and threw them at the dwelling, striking and striking again.

We could hear them within, crying out in their terror and confusion. Their weapons flashed ineffectual fire. We climbed the dwelling, tearing the timber apart to reach the devils inside, like smashing an egg shell to sup its contents.

Fierce, we shrieked our war-cries. But it was all play, all show, not to harm them. Not really. Only to frighten, only to send them away. Only to make them quit and run.

Through the shattered dwelling we could hear one of them singing, a strange tune meant to lull us like a spell:

“If you leave us alone, we’ll leave you alone, and we’ll all go home in the morning.”

But we only laughed; we would not be lulled. We did not have long, and we were made for a purpose. All night we carried out our mother’s vengeance until the first light of dawn.

Then, satisfied, we withdrew to watch.

And as the sun rose, the devils abandoned their dwelling, still sending their fire into the trees, still shouting, but there was no strength in the sound or the fire. It was all show, but we had nothing to fear from them.

When they were well and truly gone, we whistled and howled to one another, triumphant, listening to our voices echo up and down the narrow valley, and all of our siblings sang with us. What fun!

It was good to dance and celebrate, but soon enough our mother whispered through our soles: You do not have long. They will return, but they must not find you. Away!

So, reluctant as children, we let her take us back into the embrace of stone and remake us into the Things We Are, so that the devils would be fooled by us. So that they would always wonder. We watched them return to the valley in their droves and hunt for us, but they never did find us, because there was never anything to find. Just a story to scatter among them like seeds.

We did well.

But I feel shame, because I alone am restless. I still remember the feeling of the breeze in my fur and the sound of the birds in my ears and the taste of creekwater and the dust on my wide soles. I yearn to dance and give chase. It is not enough to be what I am, when I am haunted by remembering.

So sometimes, when our mother is agreeable, I slip through the veins of the earth just to whistle again.

I hope that the devils and all their kin can hear.

What fun!

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END

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Author’s Note:

This story is inspired by, arguably, one of the most popular and well-known pieces of modern Bigfoot lore: the Ape Canyon incident, which occurred at a small mining claim on Mount Saint Helens in 1924.

You can learn more details about the incident from one of the men involved (including my source for the song that one of the “devils” sings) in this article.

As for this story? I always appreciate an opportunity to see things from the “monster’s” point of view. 😉

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Thank you for reading!

Want more short Talebones fiction? Try this:

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