Of Gods and Mortals

Chapter 4.

A series of soft snarls and high-pitched gurgles.

At first, you couldn't comprehend what had happened, let alone what sounds were coming from the surrounding farmland.

Your head was fuzzy from the initial impact of the car crash, glass dust and small shards scattered over your clothes and all over the dashboard.  You felt a light, warm trickle of liquid cascade down your forehead.  You touched it, pulling your hand back down to inspect a slightly reddened, damp finger.  Not too much blood, thankfully, just a long scratch over your eyebrow and several bruises across the expanse of your body.  At least nothing was serious.

This day just kept getting better and better.

"Is everyone okay?"  Your father said through barely parted lips, his hands still tightly gripping the wheel in the wave of the aftershock.

"Yeah, yeah," you breathed, leaning your head back against the seat.  "I'm okay.  Lars?"

Lars didn't respond.

"Lars?  Dude, don't play around--"

"Shh!"

You turned around in your seat in order to face him.  He was sprawled out over the seat with the seatbelt hooked around one of his horns and his furry legs coated in a fine layer of the snowfall of glass dust.  His face was pressed up against the window.  You watched as his eyes flashed with several emotions: confusion, realization, and fear, all contained in his sweet black eyes.  It made your gut tug itself an inch downward and your mouth go dry.

"We have a bit of a problem," Lars gulped in a hoarse whisper, his voice raising several octaves.

You and your father each respectively turned to look out your windows.

THUMP.

You screeched and threw yourself farther back into the car as something small, pudgy, and colored bright green threw itself against the cracked passenger-side window, making the glass splinter further.  You fumbled with unbuckling your seatbelt.

Against the slowly crumbling window was what you could only describe as a cherub dipped in a vat of Laestrygonian snot.

It's teeth were sharp and bared in a hideous grin, it's small, pudgy body looking like a sack of flour tied up with rubber bands.  It's skin was mucus green with splotches of tan and brown staining its arms, legs, cheeks, and chest.  Its sparse amount of hair looked like hay, and its eyes were completely black and glossy.  It let out tiny snickers as your expression showed your fear.

And there were more of them.  At least half a dozen of them were surrounding your dad's Camaro, biting at the rubber tires and ripping at the metal of the doors with their tiny claws.

"What ARE those?!"  You shouted in fear, kicking yourself into the back seat with Lars as your father pulled himself out of shock, turning back to make sure you two were safe.

Lars gulped and started frantically fishing in his backpack, pulling out baggies of apples cores and tin cans and several packets of instant coffee.  "Karpoi," he managed to squeak out in a high pitch.  He couldn't seem to find what he was looking for.  "They're nasty little grain spirits.  More like grain poltergeists if you ask me--"

"Not the time!"  You yelped, suddenly yanking your dad away from the window as one of the devil cherubs busted its little fist through the broken glass.  He paled and grunted, quickly unbuckling his seatbelt and hopping into the back seat as well. 

"What do you suggest doing?"  He stuttered, gripping the back of the driver's seat and looking to Lars.  "I have to get you two out of here, but I have absolutely no clue how to deal with tiny grain ghosts."