Photo by Jim Pankey "WildSpirit"
Let your writing be inspired in some
creative way by this beautiful full moon.
Jackson "Jack" Clemons wasn't a man who scared easily, but even the bravest amoung us have their limit.... and as he nervously watched the treeline surrounding his property through frost-dusted glass, Jack had to admit he'd long ago reached his.
There had been a full moon the first time he'd spotted them scurrying through the snow behind his house.
Hearing one of the metal trashcans beside his shed fall over, Jack had gone out to scare off whatever possum or raccoon had come to investigate his leftovers. Midnight guests were nothing out of the ordinary since the further man backed civilization up to nature the harder nature seemed to push back against civilization, but this time when he rounded the side of the house he hadn't found a racoon. He'd found Them.
Half a dozen bleached blue eyes flashed red in the glow of his flashlight and he'd stood statue still while three grotesquely humanoid shapes jumped down from the shiny tin can and fled, their nearly translucent skin hairless and blending far too easily into the late December snow.
Fool that he was, he'd been more intrigued than fearful at first, leaving them food in hopes of tempting them back, eager to unravel the mystery of the ugly little creatures hiding in the forest...
After close to forty years of walking the woods behind his little house, part of him just couldn't believe anything in the forest he'd come to know neary as well as his own backyard could hurt him.
He'd been wrong..
The moonlight made it worse, it's cold grey-blue light coating the skeletal branches that stretched out beyond the clearing, filling the night with shifting shadows that played on his fears and concealed his enemies.
How many of them were out there this time? Their souless eyes staring back at him from the darkness, bloodless lips pulled back over jagged, razor sharp teeth in a silent snarl...
Dozens? Hundreds? More?
He couldn't be sure.
Movement in the trees caught his attention and Jack tightened his hand on the gun, the cold steel heavy and awkward in his trembling grip.
He wasn't sure if he could shoot left handed, but it wasn't like he had a lot of choice since the mangled fingers of his right had been rendered useless beneath the thick gauze bandage covering them.
No one believed him, not that he could really blame them since there were times when he could barely believe himself.
Even his own daughter had been asking questions.. the kind of gently probing questions you ask someone when you think they might be getting soft in the head.
"Dad, are you sure you're alright? What did Dr. Micheals say? Have you been taking your heart medication? Why don't you come down to Miami for a couple of months? The kids would love to see you."
He was tempted, but he couldn't leave. Not yet. He might be sixty seven years old, but he wasn't senile, and there was no way he was letting those things out there drive him from his own home.
No matter what anyone else thought, there was something in those woods. Something that stalked it's prey and waited for the moon to become full between attacks. Something that civilization had managed to stupidly awaken with ithe sudden onslaught of superhighways and cookie-cutter ranch style suburbs.
Jack watched the slithering shadows inch closer over the falling snow while the wind howled forlornly in the distance.
"Please," Jack whispered to the moon soaked night, "let it be the wind..."
Some wonderful lunar inspired writing for this prompt. Sanity... this was wonderful, I wanted more. :) ~ Laura Jayne
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