In desperation he lept onto the mossy log adjoining the neauseatingly high precipices of the crevasse. Of the three options he had for a place to concentrate his gaze, back and down were not one of them, yet as his heart banged off the walls of his chest and his pulse raced he found himself unable to withstand the urge to ensure his safety by investigating his most intensely precarious surroundings.
Unwittingly, his eyes immediately glanced downward. His shoes were gone, his feet glistening in the light of a full moon with the heavy depth of crimson one only sees when delivered a most mortal blow, but maybe he was panicking. Leaning slightly right to catch his balance, he winced in pain. The chest and right arm of his jacket were torn, and they too seeped a bright crisp redness, which soaked into the fabric and ran down to his pants which were already soaked in dark dirt and dew.
Just then, the log shifted. He threw his arms in the air attempting to regain his balance, and over corrected his arms reach. His right foot slid over the moist and rounded edge of the log, taking with it a huge swath of bark. His feet fled from under him, beyond the log, and his body slammed down upon it as he let out a yelp of pure fear. Gripping the bases of broken off branches, he averted falling into the abyss.
Hugging the log with his weakened right arm, he flailed his left arm until it landed securely into a knothole within the bark. As he pulled himself onto his chest on top the log, he peered over the edge. It must have been a 50 foot drop to the Rocky Creek bed, adorned with broken logs and branches as well as jagged stone. Again the log caved under the pressure of the added weight.
He closed his eyes tight and pulled himself to his knees and finally to his feet, glancing behind him only once to ensure he had not been followed. To his terror, the shadowy figure was advancing toward the log, a swift berserkness in it's breathing and a firm resolve in it's stride and steps. He could hear the knee high bramble bursting agape with ferocity as whatever was following him neared the log.
He scrambled across the remainder of the twisting cracking wood, each step falling lower than the step before. It was about to fall, and he was about to follow it down if he didn't act. With one last burst of adrenaline he threw himself into the air, diving into the tall grass and bramble on the other side of the rift. His breath rushed back in his face accompanied by the dank metallic smell of blood and dirt.
He sat up and looked back, frozen, watching as the massive silhouette of his follower stood at the edge of the opposite cliff. It's eyes aglow with the same deep red as what blanketed his own body and garments. Behind his back the sun was rising, and he knew the creature would not make chase into the light.
Across the ravine he watched as the beast lowered it's enormous stance, as the sound of defeat roared out it's maw. The noise pierced the otherwise silent air, save for the lone syncopated rhythm of his own terrified heartbeat. The shadowy figure slunk back into the bramble, wisps of darkness flicking into the air like flames, dissipating into nothingness.
The reddened eyes lightened to a pinkish hue then faded from beneath the thorny and wooded landscape. Finally the last groaning crack from the log sounded as it fell deep into the depths of the ravine, crashing off of the rock walls, and making its final splash and crunch as it met the Rocky water beneath.
YOU ARE READING
Crimson Fear
Science FictionHow could anyone have known what would occur with such great advances in technology?