J Moncrieff - Return to Dyatlov Pass

That was no bear. A bear would have kept charging, plunged him into the ground, and mauled the life out of him with its sharp claws. This creature seemed to sense danger the moment he pointed his gun.

Whatever it was, James knew he had hit it, as there was blood splatter on the leaves of one of the plants.

And then he heard a tormented yowl.

Ice water jetted through his veins. Even though he was brandishing a high-caliber weapon, James felt somewhat unprotected, like somehow the situation had reversed, and he had suddenly become the prey.

An arm swung out from behind the tall foliage and cuffed him upside the temple with such a tremendous blow that it almost took off his head. He fell back and landed on the hard ground, dropping his rifle during the fall.

Flat on his back, James gazed up, struggling to catch a breath as the impact had knocked the air out of his lungs. Blood seeped into his eyes, blurring his vision.

The leathery sole of a giant foot hovered over James’ face then stomped down.

James screamed as his forearm snapped on his right arm. It was like someone had dropped an anvil on him from a considerable height. He glanced over and saw the contrasting white of a spear tip of bone sticking out of his brown coat sleeve.

A black-furred beast came down on top of him, smothering him with its thick, pungent coat. James gagged and reached up, grabbing a handful of coarse, matted hair.

With his face buried in the noxious hair, and still not knowing what was attacking him, James felt his left ankle seized by a powerful hand and his leg lifted off the ground.His leg began to twist in a circular motion, and kept on turning, forcing tendons and muscle to tear as his kneecap ground out of the socket and the toe of his boot pointed in a ridiculous direction.

James had never felt such pain, not even while his abusive, psychopath father beat him within an inch of his life when he was ten years old.

“Please… oh God… please stop…” he cried.

And then, if it was even possible, the pain further increased when his leg was wrenched out of his pelvis, and a wet gush poured over his groin.

His attacker grunted, and then James heard something cast into the air and land somewhere off in the field.

Even buried under the tremendous weight of his thickly furred assailant, James’ body went cold as he rapidly bled out, the bright red seepage draining into the rich, furrowed soil.

He thought of his brothers, wishing he were home, reading a western, as he gazed up for the last time into the humongous gaping mouth, filled with broad tombstone teeth, bearing down on his face.

Monsters in Our Wake

The Bear Who Wouldn't Leave

City of Ghosts

The Girl Who Talks to Ghosts

Temple of Ghosts

Copyright 2018 by J.H. Moncrieff