Robert Kostanczuk is a former full-time entertainment/features reporter for the Post-Tribune newspaper of northwest Indiana.
He won first place for “Best Personality Profile” in a 1992 competition sponsored by the Society of Professional Journalists, Indianapolis chapter.
His beastly yarn, “A Stirring in the Woodland,” was published in 2019 by Schlock! Webzine of the United Kingdom.
Robert’s flash fiction “Coming Along Swimmingly” appeared in “Beyond Words” international literary magazine (Issue 13; April 2021): Beyond Words Publishing House; Berlin, Germany.
Twisted affection drenched his short story “Steve Loved Her to Pieces,” published by The Chamber Magazine (February 2022).
Robert lives in Indiana.
ROAMER
by
Robert Kostanczuk
The wind is carving deep ridges into my face.
This is the work of Mother Nature, or maybe of Hell.
In either case, they’re for real. In fact, I welcome them.
I don’t know how the wind is doing it, and I don’t care.
The locals believe evil transformations can befall those who venture out when night descends this time of year. The area is riddled with monstrous folklore.
Perhaps some is true.
Maybe the “Season of Lost Hope” does, indeed, accommodate my transfiguration.
This hamlet is drenched in superstition; it believes in a string of days when locals hesitate to venture out when daylight fades.
They fear becoming creatures, monsters.
Oh, have there been stories!
It could be this season of supposed doom plays a role in my new incarnation.
However, it matters not to me. I only care that my metamorphosis is a blessing.
All that matters is the twisted magic makes me feel alive in a dangerous, electric way.
I want my features changed. I don’t have control. I love it. Events, or forces, are leading me where I need to go.
I am running wildly into the late summer twilight.
Away I flee from the confines of regimented living and small, lifeless houses.
The outskirts hold promise. It is freedom.
What happens, happens.
It is exhilarating. The descending darkness whistles past me. I am giddy, like an uninhibited child flailing away at an unreachable star that teases and dances.
But it is a full moon which rules this night.
I am trying not to look up to catch its full majesty. I want to save the sensation for later.
For now, a blessing has befallen me due to the sharp, elongated protuberances that stretch up and down my face. Fear has not entered the picture; rather, I am elated that something ⎯ anything ⎯ is changing my life.
My hand mirror is at the ready. I brought it so I could hold it by the handle in front of me and see the moon behind me, over my shoulder.
But now I’m gazing at my face while hurrying through the cool mistiness and marshy ground. There’s a streetlight ahead; the only streetlight around for a mile. It lifts the dimness enough to allow me to better view my countenance in this rustic stretch of earth. I am horrific, but I radiate a sheen akin to a searing, diabolical demon.
My skin is pallid and withered, with vertical crevices and hard, ruffled folds.
Ridges and furrows line my face.
I resemble a cartoonish witch. I pat my cheeks. The ridges are firm, with only the slightest pliability.
My God, my eyes are piercing, devilish slits.
I am not me.
However, I embrace this virulent creature that now pulses with fresh life.
My old being is not worth saving. It was uninspired, a functional existence.
Fortunately, moving near the moors was life-changing, even perhaps supernatural.
Maybe my excursions outside are dreams, or illusions mixed with reality.
I don’t really care.
On my way home on this particular evening I feel a super sense of strength and agility. The dragonflies of early September are swarming. I leap and grab one. I want to crush it, but my soul has other ideas. My hand opens and it remains still. That is what I want it to do ⎯ be compliant. My mind has dominion over this creature.
Its wings were not crushed when I made the grab.
A perfect capture.
After remaining motionless for a few seconds, the dragonfly darts away.
Then, I rush off. I keep a brisk pace through tall grass, thickets of cottonwoods and the pathways that traverse small bogs and pools of muck. I finally look into my mirror in earnest to try and catch the moon after nearly an hour in this swirling realm that I share with no one.
I hold the mirror by its handle at arm’s length while I continue to traipse my world. Tilted ever so slightly skyward, I catch the radiant reflection that depicts the lunar majesty behind my right shoulder.
It is time to go home.
I have traveled farther out than I imagined, yet I retain the vitality needed to return me to my small cottage dwelling. At one point, exhaustion takes over, and I stumble onto the peaty ground.
But I merely smile and get up, continuing through the windswept grasses, through the sedges.
Rushing through my front door, I ease into my worn leather chair by the living room window.
The moon seems to leap inside. It dominates and pulsates in the high heavens.
Thoughts of how this all started enter my brain.
There is little doubt that my ability to transform into another being began one restless night.
In bed, I had felt something crawl into my left ear.
It was barely perceptible; as if the invader had feather-light spindly legs. Half asleep, I reached up to the ear to gingerly brush it away, but felt nothing.
I searched the bed, but could not find the culprit.
At the time, I dismissed the episode as part of a dream or merely a piece of thread, or the like, that had found its way to my ear during sleep time.
Since then, a strange radiance has permeated me.
It must be the result of divine ⎯ or more probably ⎯ demonic intervention.
I accept what happened, though bizarre it may be.
Life is indeed that uncontrollable.
After one has gone through enough hell, one merely sits back, letting it all soak in.
My attention flies back to where I am now. Holding the mirror to face level, I see that my nightmarish visage which I had welcomed earlier is gone.
The blandness of my everyman’s face has returned.
It won’t be like this for long, though.
I cannot wait to head out tomorrow when dusk descends.
This time, I intend to find prey. I swear it.
There’s a craving; it’s ravenous.
Something will die.