The Temple of Khamput

By Marcus Newhouse

The air of the swamp was oppressive, thick with strange and terrible odors that hinted at malevolent life lurking deep within. A stillness hung in the air as Jack moved slowly through the vegetation, overgrown across his field of vision. The undisturbed plant-life promised that nothing had come this way in a very long time.

Jack waded deeper into the swamp, the murky liquid climbing to his waist, muck clinging to his boots with each step making the progress slow and stilted. With each step, his boots dug deeper into the swamp floor, threatening to pull him under should he continue.

"Damn this heat" Jack muttered to himself as he took another step forward, water sloshing as he pushed onward. Mosquitos buzzed incessantly around him, drawn to the promise of fresh blood. Sweat poured down his face, a stream running down his angular nose, forming a large drop at the tip before falling into the swamp. A deep tan from years of exploration gave his face the appearance of well oiled leather and the deep creases formed around each eye, betraying his advanced years. The effects of time had done nothing to dull the cobalt blue eyes that scanned back and forth, alert for danger. A lifetime of this constant tension had exacted a terrible price, his features were gaunt, sunk in, the cheeks appearing hollow and his eyes deeply recessed.

The swamp had a strange mist rising from the waters and green vines hung from moldy trees that blotted out the sky with their canopied tops. Insects swarmed through the air and sounds from other swamp denizens provided an eerie symphony that played on Jack's nerves.

As he slogged forwards, he parted more overgrowth, pushing several of the hanging vines back. With his other hand, he swatted at a small swarm of gnats that moved towards his face. As the swarm of tiny insects dispersed from his field of vision he could see a faint glow emanating from somewhere deeper within the swam directly ahead of him.

"I must be close now" he said as he took another step forward.

A strange guttural roar erupted from somewhere deep in the swamps to his right. There was a cacophony of movement to his left, startling him. He swung his head in its direction just as a swarm of black leathery shapes flew upwards in frenzied panic. Their flight from the swamps was an escape from an unseen menace. They made strange noises in their flight that reminded Jack of the sound an animal makes as it's final breath escapes.

A shudder ran through his body despite the oppressive heat and he focused his senses to get a glimpse of what these winged creatures could be. Jack had been an adept student of the animal kingdom, but he had never seen shapes such as these before or heard a sound like that from any healthy creature.

The swarm thinned as many of the creatures escaped above the canopy of the swamp. Jack caught a glimpse of one of the stragglers and he felt the chill of ice in his veins. The body was bulbous with a series of long appendages that gave the general outline of an arachnid. Black, membranous wings resembling a bat, showed red vein traces running through them. Perhaps mercifully, before Jack could see the head of the monstrous thing it changed direction and flew from view.

"What in the hell was that?!" Jack whispered hoarsely as his hand drifted down to his hip and felt for the comforting grip of the machete at his waist. There was a slight tremble in his right hand as he flipped back the button that held the blade fast in its sheath. Slowly, he pulled the black painted blade from its scabbard trying to make as little noise as possible. The blade, just over a foot long had a bright steel edge that glinting threateningly, the edge honed into almost unnatural sharpness.

Jack looked down at the blade and hoped it was up to the challenge of whatever had let out that ungodly bellow. As he started forward again he became slowly aware of the lack of sounds in the swamp. Only moments ago, the place had been teeming with life and movement. Now all he could hear was the subtle lapping of the water against tree trunks that descended into the depths of the swamp around him and the sloshing of his own movement.