Oma is an up-and-coming writer currently residing in Interior Alaska. An avid love of all things horror and reading, as well as creating, drove her to begin writing her own short stories at a young age. With a primary focus on horror, her stories range from soft horror to Splatterpunk. When not writing, she enjoys painting, reading and reviewing novels, as well as crocheting. Oma currently has a collection of short stories in the editing process and is working on a debut novel that she hopes to have published this year.
Updates about her work can be found here: Oma Ann- Author | Facebook
WEAK-WILLED
by
Oma Ann
Bellamy jolted awake, tangled in his partially unzipped sleeping bag. Sweating profusely, he glanced around, unsure of where he was in his half-roused state. He had had yet another nightmare, his should be restful sleep marred by a dark shadow lurking within his subconscious. He slowly relaxed as he took in his surroundings. He was on a camping trip with his childhood friends James and Charlie. They had planned this trip ages ago, in preparation for their first summer vacation after starting college.
He hadn’t been overly keen on the trip initially. James had come up with the idea, insisting that it would be the trip of a lifetime, and upon hearing of his reluctance to make the trek into the wilderness of the Rocky Mountains, had teased him mercilessly for weeks. It had gotten to the point that Charlie had to play ref any time they were together, and eventually was the one to put a stop to the bullying, as well as convincing Bellamy that maybe a trip into nature was exactly what they all needed.
There was a loud rumbling to his right. Charlie was always a loud sleeper, often waking the other two with his growl-like snore. Bellamy always told him that he could wake a hibernating bear with that snore of his, but Charlie insisted he didn’t snore, even when shown proof that he did.
Stifling a yawn, Bellamy glanced to his left towards where James was laid up, only to find the space empty.
As if on cue, Bellamy heard a shuffling outside of the tent. James must have gone out to take a piss. Bellamy’s own screaming bladder made him sit up further and extract himself from his sleeping bag. When he exited the unzipped tent door, he frowned slightly. The campsite was empty. Not a sign of James, the suspected culprit of the noise he had heard just seconds before. He took in his surroundings for a few more moments, then shrugged off the eerie feeling that crept up his spine and headed to the edge of camp to empty his bladder.
Giving off a satisfied sigh as he pulled his joggers back up, Bellamy headed back to the tent, but paused when he neared the entrance. There was that rustling sound again. Not only from the tent, but from behind him now as well. Fearing a bear had wandered into their campsite, Bellamy dove into the tent, zipping the door behind him.
Relieved that he managed to close the tent without alerting whatever was out there, it took Bellamy a moment to register the sound of squishing behind him, paired with a metallic scent that almost made him gag.
Bellamy turned to investigate the tent. A dark figure loomed over Charlie, who had stopped snoring. He called James’ name, assuming the figure to be him. There was no response. However, as Bellamy’s senses adjusted to the darkness in the tent, it became more apparent that it was, in fact, James. Bellamy called his name again to no avail.
Furrowing his brow, Bellamy moved to stepped towards them, but thought better of it. Something was wrong. Squinting in the darkness, his eyes landed on his phone lying discarded next to his sleeping bag. Skirting around the edge of the tent until he reached it, he picked it up, bringing the screen to life as he did. The squishing sound stopped, and Bellamy glanced back up to find James staring at him. With the light emanating from his phone, he could see exactly what had been making the sounds he had been hearing.
James was crouched over Charlie, his hands buried in his stomach. James’ face was dripping with blood, viscera, and God only knows what else. His eyes were wild, glazed over, unseeing of Bellamy, or at least not registering him as the person he had been raised with from an infant. He blinked once, painfully slow, then resumed his ravenous exploration of Charlie’s innards.
Bellamy slowly backed from the scene in front of him. He was so focused on James as he pulled an unknown organ from Charlie’s body and bit down, that he didn’t hear the tent door slowly being unzipped behind him. He continued backing away until he suddenly bumped into something large. Bellamy’s breath caught in his throat, and he squeezed his eyes shut.
A gentle, gravelly voice sounded from behind him.
“The weak of will are always the first to succumb. Shall we test yours?”
If he hadn’t already done so, Bellamy was certain he would have pissed himself then and there. He couldn’t stop his trembling as he felt a cold sharpness touch the skin along the back of his neck. The pressure increased as the hand of this creature, or whatever it was, wrapped around his throat. It’s sharp, bony fingers dug into his jugular, piercing his flesh.
His blood poured from his body in rivets and his sight became blurred, which he was thankful for. It meant he no longer had to watch his friend devour the other. As Bellamy’s consciousness swayed, his final thought was that he had been right to not want to go to this forsaken forest.