The Mallard God Complex (12)

12. Full Moon

            And then, as if nothing had happened, I am back in the moment. There is no branch crack and I am walking through the forest. The stink of the plants below me wafts upward. I look at the trees and picture birds dropping from their branches to peck my eyes out. The logs fall, crushing me beneath their weight. A trap snares my right foot and a mysterious figure slides out of the darkness to lead me away.

            Fear comes in many forms and it seldom makes sense. The trick is to not let it overwhelm you. This is something that I have never been very good at (the list goes on). Regardless, I take a breath, look straight ahead, and exhale. The effort nearly makes me pass out. The smell is starting to get to me, my vision wavers and I lose focus. I decide to try conversation again to keep me lucid.    “Why exactly are we gathering wood anyway? I saw a pretty good sized stack on the back-side of the house.”

            “We can’t use that wood, it’s been dead for too long. Makes for great kindling, but terrible wards.”

            “Wards? Like magic wards?”

            “Call them magic if you like, but it’s nothing more than a few simple parlor tricks. Anyone could make them if they put their mind to it. It’s not something that requires a letter when you’re fourteen or an old man to apprentice you.”

            “How are they made?”

            “You’ll see soon enough.” This last comment cuts off short and Bob stops dead in his tracks.

            “Why’d you stop?”

            “SHH!” He says loudly. The irony is wasted on the trees and the inside of my brain. He is too busy staring at something that I apparently can’t see. “Don’t move; just very slowly dip to the ground. Try and appear as small as possible.” In unison we dip our bodies to the ground and lie nearly flat. Out of the woods walks a tall elk, with horns three four in length. In the zoo they trim them low to minimize risk. Here they are in full form and beautiful. Every inch of the creature is striking.

            Slowly it advances toward us. The tiny hairs on its antlers glimmer in the evening sun, reflecting the red glow of the setting sun. Bob moves forward, methodically, every move a delicate balance. I can hardly muster enough gall to breathe. Every inch my body fluctuates and feels as though it draws me closer to death. The elk lowers its head ever-so-slightly and lets out a misty snort.

            Every heart beat pulses from the core of my bones, vibrating out to the edges of my skin. THUMP THUMP. Even the elk must be able to hear it. Bob continues to advance. I reach out to stop him but he swats my hand away like a child. Soon he is within spitting distance of the elk. I have never much like that term; spitting distance. Although in this situation it seems rather apt, as I wouldn’t be all that surprised if Bob spit on the elk to assert dominance. Stranger things have been known to happen.

            He reaches a hand out and the elk snorts once again, balking at the gesture. I am sure that Bob is soon to be gored and dead on the ground in front of me when the elk dips its head again. Only this time it is not threatening, it is to nuzzle his hand. “There we go!” Bob says rather loudly, somewhat startling the elk. It doesn’t make much of a difference as the creature just begins to lick his hand. “You’re not so bad after all are you?”

            “How?” Is all I can say. If my mother had anything to say about it that elk would have ripped us into tiny pieces and worn us as ornaments to attract lady elks. Nothing sexier than someone wearing the skin of another animal to attract their mate (I’m looking at you leopard print girls and yes that was sarcasm). The elk shatters the lies of my parents in one fell swoop, which might have been a shock had I not been a rebellious teen.

            Unfortunately for my parents and the future of my sanity the situation is far beyond what any of them ever prepared me for. It is so far-fetched that for the three-hundredth time this day my head threatens to explode. I have so many questions about all of it. Why the hell would everyone lie about this? Where does it all end? Are you a magician and you’re just not telling me because if you did then you would lose your powers? What else is real? Is society covering up a labor plant of dwarves in our polar ice caps?! Why is a Netflix subscription so cheap in comparison to renting movies?!

            I ask none of them. I hoist myself off of the ground, wiping the dirt from my shirt and approach the creature. “It’s really simple Michael. These creatures aren’t inherently threatened by you. That old bat in the cabin has made sure of it. He’s never hunted them, and for the last fifty years they have known nothing but peaceful coexistence. That and they continually munch his plants off the forest floor, which understandably makes them a tad more docile, and oddly enough, hungry.”

            “So you’re telling me that this beast is docile?” I say shakily. The proximity of it is still putting me on edge. I don’t want to imagine what those horns could do to me, but I continue to do it anyway.

            “Well I think he would prefer that you call him an elk, but yes.”

            “How do you know it’s a he?” As if on cue, the elk begins to piss on the forest floor. “Ah, majestic…”

            “We all do it Michael, no sense in being ashamed about it.” I half think he’s going to drop his pants and pee to prove a point, but he pats the elk on the nose and turns around. He bends to the ground and cuts a group of saplings. “I think we’ve got enough wood for now. It’s going to be dark sooner than I like, and I think sooner than it should be. We’re in for an interesting night. Unless I’ve missed my guess, there’s something approaching from the west, right beneath the setting sun.”

            To the west I see nothing but darkening woods. The gaps between the trees are now foreboding, blocking any and all light from getting between them. It is from these alleys that the stuff of nightmares emerges. We set out at a brisker pace back towards the house. The elk stops and stares at us for a moment and then leisurely strolls in the opposite direction. Whatever is coming for us doesn’t seem to bother it.