Scribbles and Bits

Rogan: last night, I had one of those extremely cogent, cinematic, screaming nightmares, but the story annoyed me so much I refuse to make it a real story. Instead, I post it here.

There was a people who lived in a cold green land of forests, hills, and snow. The winters seemed to last forever, and the snow was so heavy that they had built a roofed-over compound where they would retreat for the winter, living safely for months, sealed in by snow. The people had been there a long time. They were happy there.

Then the bat people started appearing.

They looked like gray-skinned, fanged, batwinged (with no hands) Nosferatu, human-sized, but of uncertain sapience. They and humans couldn’t communicate with each other, and the bat people would eat humans if they could.

What’s more, they were appearing INSIDE the compound. First, people went disappearing. Then, the batfolk started appearing, attacking and eating any human they saw. Nobody had ever seen them before. They'd never appeared outside the compound. Where were they coming from?

All attempts to find and exterminate the bat people failed. No matter what, no matter how they searched, humans kept disappearing and bats kept appearing. Finally, after a truly horrific winter, the humans decided they had no better choice: they had to evacuate, leave the compound.

As soon as the snows faded, the remaining humans packed their things. They formed a line, carrying their bags on their shoulders, and they left.

There were three children, roughly twelve years old, among them. They were friends, walking with each other rather than their families, which is why when one of them went, “oh no! I forgot one of my favorite things!” no adult was there to put their foot down. No, the other children agreed that the precious thing was worth returning for. It’d only be for a second. The child knew exactly where it was. They weren’t scared of no bat!

So the child snuck off, looped around, and returned to the compound. It was dark and empty inside, but that child had spent every winter safe in its walls; they knew it well, and they were not afraid.

They were fast. They were stealthy. They navigated by the weak spring sun that came in through the windows. They found their precious thing without incident—right where it should be—and turned to leave, just as quickly.

Then everything went black.

The child froze. They dropped their precious toy. They heard nothing. Fear rose in their throat. And then—

The sunlight came back on.

The child felt silly. No one and nothing was there! They shouldn’t have come here. No, time to go, to return to their friends.

They left, with neither speed nor stealth. They didn’t cast even one backward look at their most precious toy. Now only one thing drove them: to be with their friends again.

As they pushed through the wet evergreen branches, they didn’t notice their skin had turned gray. As they panted steam, they didn’t notice that the sounds of people talking no longer meant anything. And as they found their friends, happy and joyful, they didn’t notice the screams of horror as they started to feast upon those dear friends.

It no longer understood why that would bother anyone.