Fri 5 Oct 07

Felton shuddered as he peered out from his darkened hiding place. Something was very wrong. There had been strange noises and smells that evening. Snaps and thuds, a scream, and then far, far too much silence.

As Felton strained his ears for sounds of his parent’s return, his stomach began to churn. He had not yet eaten that day and as the pangs of hunger mingled with the fear creeping through his body, Felton knew it was time to move.

Felton unfurled his trembling body from its crouch and took several cautious steps into the open. He stopped. Sniffed. Wrinkled up his nose and sniffed again. No longer encumbered by barriers, the strange smells swirled and danced, rolling through Felton like an Oregon fog. There were smells that tugged at his tastebuds, rich, nutty, and sweet, and Felton’s mouth watered. Oh, to end that hunger! And there was a smell that stood his hair on end, organic and pungent, reminding him of the day he was born, the smell of vitality coalescing with finality. And stand on end did Felton’s hair. He wanted to run, to escape that smell, to curl up again in his hiding place, but a final smell drew him on. A smell that yanked at Felton’s heart. Somewhere near, his parents!

Felton raced into the darkness. Hunger momentarily forgotten, he pressed toward the smell of his mother, eyes adjusting and gathering more light with every step. And then he saw her. Or rather, he saw half of her. Her legs and tail lay exposed and contorted hanging from the jaws of an unmoving beast. Felton took a step back and then with his heart leaping into his throat he raced to his mother’s side. The beast didn’t move. Neither did Felton’s mother.

Her body was still warm, but as Felton nuzzled against her hind legs he knew the warmth was fading. He sniffed her body and smelled her fear, fading like her warmth. He sniffed the crescent of drying blood, arcing away from his mother’s hidden torso and head, and smelled the finality. Felton’s adrenaline surged and as the visceralness of the scene washed over him, Felton raced away blindly into the blackness. Away from the place where his mother had last screamed. Away from the moment where his mother would no longer be fading warmth and only be gathering cold. Away from the finality.

He raced on and on until he came to a place where the smell of richness and nuttiness and sweetness took a hold of his senses, pushing out the adrenaline, overwhelming the fear. He stopped and crept toward that smell. There was something oh so familiar about this.

And then Felton let out his own scream.

7 thoughts on “Fri 5 Oct 07

  1. Dad

    I know I could have come up with something to say about the snow, but I’m not really sure what to do with this one. Have a good weekend anyway.

  2. Aunt Joyce

    You probably didn’t know that I read your web site because I never comment. But I have to comment on this one – I am eagerly awaiting the next installment.

  3. Jordan

    Does Felton’s cousin encounter a dog in episode two? Maybe you should have gotten cats instead…

  4. Josh Post author

    Hey thanks for the comments! Well, I wasn’t planning a second round, but we’ll see. We’ve had a bit of a mouse infestation in our kitchen the past few weeks and Mary went wild with traps the past two days. I was trying to make her feel a little guilty for the mouse destruction, but I don’t think it worked since she responded with “Good, I’m going to kill some more Feltons tonight” after she read the story.

  5. joz

    Ah, now it all becomes clear. Very sympathetic approach to the situation. A noble effort–maybe you need to see Mary’s unmoved heart as a sign of her courage and strength and determination to defend your family home from destructive–though beguilingly cute–creatures.

  6. Aunt Joyce

    Amazing work, Josh. It all makes sense now. You need to enter it into a “guess what I’m writing about” contest – if there is such a thing. When Russ and I first moved into this house we had mice. The snap of a mousetrap was the happiest sound to us.

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