I am new to the writing game, or at least to actually showing people what I have written. I am largely inspired by the rugged natural beauty of my homeland Aotearoa New Zealand, and what might be lurking in the wilds...
NEWCOMERS
by
Joseph Bonnett
They looked at each other and understood that there was no going back. No going back to the old ways, to times of peace, to the time before the creatures came.
They emerged from a necessary hiding place that had recently become home, one of the many caves in the region formed in limestone. Secret. Safe. For now. A sound filled the sky, a vocal expression of some sort, a chorus of cries that skimmed along the ocean surface and penetrated the forest. It was the same sound that had drawn the duet from their hiding place. They continued into the trees, surrounded by coastal broadleaf forest that provided respite from the elements, from the cold and unforgiving oceanic winds that battered the coastline, and it provided cover from observation. Cover from the swarm.
They stopped. A pile of skulls lay on the ground between them. Victims - food, the four-legged beasts that roamed the woods, their numbers dwindling too. The ground was thick with the bright red needles of the Pohutakawa trees that towered above. A strange hole had pierced the forehead of some of the skulls and shattered the surrounding bone. What could make such a hole? A single Pohutaka needle had fallen through one of the holes, the top now telescoping out of the damage as if it had been that which had cleanly penetrated the skull.
When the creatures first came they were only a few, and there was so much space then. There was separation and a degree of peace, unspoken but managed through distance and wary respect. But the numbers grew, and the distance became difficult, and through proximity bloodshed was inevitable. So many dead. The monster's numbers were growing exponentially; a swarm of consumption and suffering.
The pair moved onwards, towards the edge of the forest's growth until it thinned enough to see the world beyond. The cliffside fell away sharply, descending thirty meters to the sun-baked black sands below. Heavy waves crashed and pulled driftwood back out to sea before cyclically redepositing it onto the sand.
In the distance, on the water, they saw it. Some sort of grand vessel. They had seen smaller ones before, but this one was colossal and it consumed the immediate horizon. To the left, they saw another one, further back. To the right, there were two more, further back again. The leading vessel appeared to house what must be hundreds of creatures.
The vessels began to spit out smaller versions of themselves, and on these, the bipedal monsters slowly arrived with red skin that covered their arms and chests only. Their legs were white, their feet black, and their faces and hands radiated a pinkish hue. They were largely hairless except for the strange tufts on their heads and in some cases on parts of their face. Some had no hair at all. Stranger again, some appeared to be able to remove the tops of their heads, to move them around only to then replace them. The creatures marched ashore making the same strange vocalisations, perhaps communicating between themselves. Many of them carried large sticks hanging from their shoulders.
The pair retreated from the horde storming the beach, back to the cave, back among shelter. At the foot of the cave, the ferns weaved back and forth in the wind in a dramatic lateral movement, intermittently thrown off their course by the downward pressure from heavy rain that hammered the surrounding flora and diluted the memories of blood already spilled. Miniature waterfalls that dissipated into sodden soil taking with them the scent of the ancestors.
They looked at each other and knew that there would be no memories left after this wave. There were too many. They hid and awaited violence.
Later, the vocal expressions came again but were closer now, so close. The ferns at the foot of the cave were pushed aside and the intruders came through pointing the large sticks. Their facial expressions said they were angry, no, scared. Both. The ends of the sticks lit up the cave with fire that blinded them as it spat through the air like accelerated embers in the wind. The noise was deafening as it reverberated throughout the cave and pummeled the senses.
There was nowhere to run, nowhere to go.
From the Diary of Sergeant Teddy Reynold
17 September 1817
After our second port, I can be sure that the West Coast here in New Zealand remains a treacherous beast to land. The waters are rough, and they hide deadly currents and deadlier rocks. The black sand beaches truly are a marvel though. Remarkable the heat that they retain, enough to burn a man.
Even more remarkable are the notices from the 57th Regiment, stationed further North on the Coromandel Peninsula. Talk of some kind of beasts. Large beasts, thought at first to be bears or some sort of extraordinarily large primate. But, by all accounts, neither of these exists in these parts.
I hope I shall see one of these beasts soon. There are bones. One of the lads found em. There was debate over their origin, but they are surely NOT the remnants of the Moa, a large flightless bird of which the last was seen as far back as hundreds of years. Although similar in scale, the form is all different, and they are too fresh. We have a council arranged in two days with some of the locals, perhaps they can tell us more.
I remember the talk back home, shared around the fire over more than a fair share of liquor. Stories shared and handed down among some who had returned from duty in North America. They spoke of reclusive creatures in the woods. Sasquatch I think they called em. Well, it may just be that they are found in these remote parts too.
Apparently, they are dangerous when cornered, well I know they will be no match for the military precision of the Red Coats.