Mary-Cade Mandus - Skin Deep

They were halfway to their destination when Mirella began to cough, a watery, gurgling sort of sound that curdled Crispin’s blood. He dug his heels into the stallion’s sides demanding greater speed. So intent was he on reaching their goal he’d failed to perceive the changes in her weight, the odd sensation between his fingers where they gripped the flesh of her forearm. Now, he was forced into taking notice for her body abruptly sagged, boneless like a ragdoll, and slipped from his arms. Screaming her name he sprang from the saddle before the stallion had come down to a walk and ran back to where she lay upon the road.

A portion of her long skirt had twisted about her face and arms like a shroud. With urgency born of panic he threw the cloth aside unveiling her lovely form and features. His breath released in a gasp of gratitude, then he fell backwards in horror as her face collapsed inward and her lustrous brown curls liquefied into a syrupy, runny mass. The delectable, rich aroma of melting chocolate filled the air.

His stomach roiled at the overwhelming sugary scent. His eyes shrank from the nightmarish sight only to glaze over in shock when they lit upon the stains that spilled in milky white runnels down his chest to his thighs and stickily coated each hand.

Minutes or hours might have passed before he heard the sound, for he was as oblivious to time as he was to the awful moans that issued from his throat and the uncontrollable shivering that racked his body. He had been sitting staring into nothing, his mind incapable of, and averse to, associating the amalgamation of cloth and the viscous substance drying upon the dirt beside him with Mirella. Little by little he became aware of a cadenced thumping approaching from behind. Listlessly he looked over a shoulder. A large unidentifiable shape was hurtling steadily up the road toward him.

It drew up a short distance away; a huge, powerfully built, rough-coated dog. Its sides scarcely heaved from exertion although it had clearly traveled a distance. Its intelligent, alert gaze was directed beyond Crispin to where “Mirella” lay and the large flared nostrils intensely probed the air. Crispin saw the outer hairs of the harsh gray coat bristle and it stumbled back as though dealt a blow. The great head swiveled towards him and Crispin saw his own anguish mirrored in the depths of its dark brown eyes. Throwing back its head it howled – although it could best be described as an almost human wail. Then chillingly, the cry’s inflection altered, a change that paralyzed Crispin with terror and, when the head lowered, he saw that its eyes now glittered with savage hate and craving. For one awful moment it regarded him with that terrible gaze, then the bloodlust ebbed, supplanted by recognition and compassion. Slowly, it approached and Crispin instinctively recoiled, but it did nothing more menacing than reach out and gently lay a paw upon his knee. Before he could react, it wheeled and was racing back the way it had come.