Fossil Lake: An Anthology of the Aberrant (16 page)

Mr. Berlin had said I made monsters out of men, but he was sorely mistaken. It was men who made a monster out of me.

COME FLY WITH DEATH

Wesley D. Gray

Come fly with Death

and feel the splitting as you come apart

with turbulent screams bifurcating bones.

Flee further from this life –

unfurl your wings and soar

with tangled feathers cutting the night.

Join his skeleton beak,

slicing stabs at airless wind,

and wield its dashing spine.

Stay near to glinting shroud and glide,

knowing tattered wings will guide,

as whispering scars are left behind.

Go now into that hollow abyss,

but do not pass the dark in calmness;

break the barrier with raging clamor!

Do not scrape or merely crawl.

Come fly with Death –

and swoop, and yawp, and bawl.

THE HORN OF PLENTY

Russell Nayle

The sound of the neighbor’s rooster woke Jack. After an hour and a half’s sleep, he was in no mood to be nice to anyone – or anything. Even his hamster shied away from him. He couldn’t go back to sleep, but it was just as well. He hadn’t packed his gear yet for the day trip to Fossil Lake, and the bus was supposed to leave from the mall parking lot in an hour.

Jack had taken this trip many times. He usually sat in the back seat, where he spread out his baling twine and safety pins – for insurance purposes. A man once tried to sit next to him. Ever since, Jack came prepared.

He dodged the granny spies to cut through the back yard of his apartment complex. It was the fastest way to the mall. The safety pins in his backpack jabbed him between his shoulder blades with every stride, but he didn’t have time to rearrange his gear just yet. Getting to the bus was his priority.

Jack made it to the parking lot, elbowed his way to the front of the line, and proudly displayed his ticket. The bus driver recognized Jack, and grudgingly let him board. He’d accused Jack of trying to rook him before, but Jack’s ticket was kosher this time, so there was nothing the bastard could do.

The others boarded the bus with no problems. They all took seats near the front.

After half an hour’s ride to the lakeside, Jack wanted to be first person off the bus, which wasn’t so easy to do from the back seat.

Another passenger, Greg, slid his 300 pound bulk halfway into the aisle.

“You’re not getting in front of me, boy,” he told Jack. “Wait your turn.”

“Da fuck?!” growled Jack. “No way is some fat guy going to make me miss five minutes worth of fossil hunting!”

“Yeah, well,
I
am. Deal with it, Shortcakes.”

“I am
not
short! I’m five-foot-ten-inches!”

“No you’re not.”

Jack fumed. He’d figure out a way to get back at Greg. Overpowering him was out of the question. The safety pins he’d packed would have to do. A kilt pin would have been useful.

The moment he hopped down from the bus, Jack pushed past Greg, and ran to the shore.

*     *     *

The bus driver and Greg looked at each other and shrugged.

Greg asked, “Do you think he came for the fossil hunting or the food?”

“If I knew that, I’d dress in drag and do palm readings instead of drive a bus.”

“He looks familiar. Have you seen him before?”

“Lots of times,” replied the driver.  “He tries to board the bus once a month or so. A couple of times he handed me a counterfeit ticket. You should have seen the tantrum he threw last time. My two-year-old nephew takes it better when he can’t have a cookie.”

Greg laughed. “Well, I’m here for the cookout, and the scenery. Fossils don’t really rock my socks. I’ll help you set up, if that’s okay.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it. Can you grab one end of this table?”

Twenty minutes later, there was a commotion by the edge of the lake.

Greg pointed to where Jack was splashing around in the water. “What is that he’s doing? My grandpa told me a story about catching fish with some twine and a safety pin on a stick, but I always thought it was one of his tall tales. That boy is going to scare off the fish.”

Jack bent over, and reached down into the water.

Greg’s eyes widened. “Oh, lord, I did
not
need to see his plumber’s butt. Is that a tat on his tailbone? Can you read it?”

The bus driver replied, “It looks like a comment cloud, but all I can make out is ‘WOOF’.”

They continued to watch Jack, fascinated.

Jack’s jerry-rigged fishing line had gotten caught on something. He was in the water up to his crotch trying to un-lodge it. Mud and all, he emerged, and approached the picnic table with a twisted looking horn.

“Take that, bitches,” he screamed while running circles around the table, waving his find. “Yeah, take that!”

One woman who was sitting at the table asked, “May I see that? It looks like part of a narwhal tusk. But what’s it doing in a fresh water lake?”

“It’s a unicorn horn. I just
know
it is.”

The woman tried to keep a straight face. “Send it off to a university in the Maritimes. Get a biologist to look at it.”

“It’s a unicorn horn. I don’t need some fool from a college to tell me that. I know what it is.”

“Okay, okay. Just don’t wave it in my face.”

Jack paused, looking stunned as it visibly dawned on him he was talking to a woman. An actual woman. Clearly, not many women would engage him in conversation. Opportunities like this seldom presented themselves.

Greg and the bus driver, still watching, winced in unison as they saw him suave up and try to make his best move.

“Ma’am, would you like to go to dinner with me sometime?” Jack asked her. “You’d have to drive, though.”

She’d managed to keep the straight face before, but this time proved to be a bigger challenge. “No thanks.”

“Geez. Some women are so picky.”

The cookout had barely started when Jack announced that he was ready to go home. Greg reminded him that they weren’t due to leave until 4:00.

“Sit on that horn thing you found until then, okay?”

“I will not! It’s a fossil. It’s from the lake. It’s fragile.”

Greg shot back, “Yeah, like you.”

The cookout went well, with brats and some burgers. Almost everyone enjoyed the day trip, except for that one woman, who seemed to have lost much of her appetite and only picked at her food. For the rest of them, Jack’s antics were an amusing sideshow to a gorgeous day spent poking around among the rocks.

*     *     *

All Jack wanted to do was get home with his twisty horn. He persisted in telling anybody who’d listen, but they sided with the fat guy and made him wait until 4:00.

After three agonizing hours, which gave his clothes time to mostly dry out in the sun, he reclaimed the rear seat on the bus for the return trip. Nobody else wanted it.

During the ride, Jack kept fondling his fossil. Others returned with some trilobites. One woman found an ammonite. Nobody else found a unicorn horn!

Once off the bus, Jack raced home with his precious find. He sat down at his computer and googled “unicorn horn,” and “narwhal.” None of the results really looked like his fossil. Frustrated, he hung his fossil off his headboard with baling twine, and went to sleep.

The mirror shook. His dresser shifted a little. He rolled over, and pulled the covers over his head.

The next morning, his wallet was missing, and everything that had been on the dresser was scattered across the floor.

Throughout the next month, plenty of other strange things happened. His beloved Empyrean Sky t-shirt was shredded. Things kept getting knocked off his dresser. Several times, he saw a black cloud behind him when he looked in the mirror. Lights flickered, and he occasionally got ear piercing feedback from his speakers. He heard demonic laughter at night.

Jack still had the name of a guy he’d seen on TV who investigated this sort of thing, Don Zoofus, written on a post-it that he had stuck to his fridge. He looked up the man’s number, and called to explain the situation. The answering machine picked up, so he left a message.

Zoofus returned his call that evening. He could not come investigate for a couple of weeks, he said, because he had several urgent cases pending, but he expressed his interest.

Jack endured the weird happenings for two more weeks, until Zoofus arrived with his equipment. The cameras looked nice, but what really caught Jack’s eye was the voltmeter. Zoofus called it a K2 EMF meter, or something that sounded high tech. It had pretty lights.

Zoofus spent two days on his investigation. When he finished, he proclaimed that the twisty horn was the cause of the strange occurrences, and recommended that it be removed from the premises. He explained that it was Jack’s decision, of course.

Reluctantly, Jack allowed Zoofus to take the horn. Zoofus promised to bring it home with him, do a purification ritual, and encase it in a bell jar, so that any remaining evil couldn’t escape.

Despite that, Jack continued to experience weird phenomena.

And three weeks after Zoofus left, he logged onto eBay, where he saw his unicorn horn for sale, for $300.

THE LOST LINK

Carl Thomas Fox

If Francis didn’t get there in time,
he
would not be happy.
His
time was precious. There was so much to tell
him
, and only Francis would be the man to do it.

It was his right, after all. He had found the irrefutable proof.

Fuelled with his knowledge, Francis raced through the empty rain-slicked streets in his rental car. It was the middle of the night, a dreary British night with the rain cascading down. In the gloom, everything had a sleek black sheen. So sleek and slick that, in his excitement, he fought to maintain control of the car, doing his very best not to die with this knowledge.

He tried to remain calm by remembering the events that led him to this kamikaze errand.

Fresh out of studying for his Ph.D for palaeontology, Francis had been keen to begin his first dig and add something new to the world’s knowledge of prehistory. There had been so many changes lately! Such as the concept that dinosaurs had evolved into birds, rather than being lizards, as the original translation of their name meant. No, they were of the bird genus, to the point many had feathers, not scales as popularly believed.

For all these reasons, he’d wanted his first dig to be something special.

Fortunately for him, he did not have long to wait.

Millionaire George Vermis, a genius who owned the southern stretch of England and Wales through the numerous businesses he had in his pocket, was considered by many to be an eccentric. He was also considered a benevolent presence, submitting much money for charities, and supporting the development of people’s history. When an attempt was made to remove the great Red Dragon from the Welsh flag and replace it with the golden cross of St. David, Vermis had been the one to put a stop to the act. Though Italian by birth, it was said he felt a strong kinship with the infamous Ddraig Coch, as the dragon was known, which was why he had set up his mansion in the blistering wilds of the Welsh countryside.

Two years ago, there’d been news of a new dinosaur find in Central Italy, in an old dried up lake called Lacfossile – literally, and ironically, translated as Fossil Lake. Vermis, whose family came from and still owned land in the region, managed to gain control over the area. He’d then needed an expert he could trust.

Sensing his opportunity, Francis Drake approached the millionaire, dressed in a crisp, smart suit and bearing a list of his credentials.

Impressed, even seduced by the young man’s innocence, enthusiasm and theories, Vermis put him in charge of the dig, and paid for everything: the handpicked team, the hardware, passports and transport.

Fully funded, Francis headed off for Southern Italy, not sure what he was going to come across. What he did uncover, after two months of digging and sifting through endless earth samples, he knew would change everything. His own hypothesis, those belonging to endless experts around the world, and even the ideas of the general public.

What he found would change the world.

That was why he was risking life and soul to get to
him
, his benefactor, on this rainy night.

Dragon’s Keep, the home of Vermis, was a large stately mansion on top of a tall hill, looking at stretches of fields and wooded areas. High walls of white stone surrounded the estate, which in turn were topped with hedges cut and trimmed to look like waves, or monstrous wings. Dramatic lighting intensified the effect in the darkness outside.

Francis had called ahead, and was expected.  The grand gates stood open and ready for him. As he drove through, he noticed another car leaving, an expensive red sports car full of beautiful women. They were dressed up as if for a party. Francis was briefly hypnotised by them, unable to look away. However, as he looked, he noticed how all five of the women glared at him with deadly venom.

No matter, they drove off.

The grounds of Dragon’s Keep were breathtaking. Large, lustrous gardens filled with oceans of flowers, winding rivers of gravelled paths and towering sculptures forged and carved from bushes and hedges. The curving sweep of driveway led up to the house, in front of which was a fountain with a statue of a rearing dragon. Probably to show Vermis’ love of living in Wales.

Coming to a quick stop, Francis sprang out, making sure he had his bag, and rushed up the stone steps. Before he had a chance to knock, the mahogany doors opened, revealing a tall, elderly gentleman, with thinning white hair.

“Good evening sir.” The man spoke in a calm, collected English accent. “Mr. Vermis is waiting for you in the office. I will take you to him.”

“Thank you,” Francis said. His own voice was strained with the weariness of tension and pent-up adrenaline.

He followed the butler into the foyer, with high ceilings, tiled floor and arching staircase. There were doors all around, leading off to several different areas of the house. The butler led Francis through one such door, into the private office of George Vermis.

Like all other rooms in the house, it was elegant and spacious, with large windows. This room had a rich green carpet and dark bookcases filled to the rim with old, worn volumes of books in several languages. A big fire blazed. A large projector screen on one wall faced a mammoth desk of intricately carved mahogany, topped and studded with green leather. The carvings consisted of loops and twists. Books, inkwells, old fashioned quills and a large metal dome covered the surface. Worked into the desktop itself was a computer keyboard, sockets for USB connections and CDs, and a touchpad mouse.

The man sitting at the desk was tall and handsome, dressed in black trousers and a burgundy shirt, under which a strong, chiselled body could clearly be seen. His hair was finely cut, with a modern styling to show he was with the times. His face looked youthful and sincere.

The moment Francis stepped in, the man stood up to greet him, clasping his hand in a strong handshake. Although he felt warm, there was an instant’s dry chill of his skin the moment their hands made contact. No sweaty palms here.

“Francis, how good to see you,” he said in a deep, booming voice. “God, man, you look terrible. Have a seat.”

Francis took the offer without question. The stress and exhaustion had begun to catch up with him, and he knew his appearance showed it. When he’d last been here, he’d been young and fresh, with smart clipped hair and a smooth, unblemished, clean shaven face. Now, he was worn and haggard, his hair overgrown and dishevelled, weeks of stubble marking his rough, sun baked face.

Examining Francis’ new look, Vermis reached for the small knob on the dome and pulled up, revealing a porcupine of cigarettes. Taking one, placing it casually between his lips, he gestured towards the others. However, Francis declined the offer. It was straight to business.

“Well,” said Vermis, closing the lid, “what brings you back so quickly?”

“The find of the century, Mr. Vermis. I have all the photos here.”

From his bag, Francis pulled out a black iPad. Opening it up, he selected the picture menu. Vermis indicated he should send it wirelessly to the projector, which he switched on. Looking at the screen, Francis synced his iPad and turned back round to face Vermis, who looked on, smoking and full of interest.

“This is what we found.” Francis selected an image of a dinosaur skeleton in dusty earth.

It showed a winged beast, unlike any that had been found to date, with a crown of horns upon the pointed skull.

“A new species?” asked Vermis.

“A dragon, Mr. Vermis. Evidence that dragons existed in prehistoric times.”

“Dragons,” Vermis echoed.

“We unearthed a total of six skeletons. One was that of a tyrannosaurus. The others were decidedly not.”

As Francis spoke, he shifted through the photos, showing what he was saying.

“This one, the larger specimen, with the horns pointing up, I am assuming is a male. Four others, smaller, have curling ones, which I propose are females of the species. Their bones appear to be of a honeycombed structure, making them both strong and light. We also discovered the fossilized remains of a nest filled with eggs.”

Vermis said nothing, staring intently at the screen.

Francis continued. “One of the females appears to have been injured … you can see the broken limbs and crushed ribs. From what I can determine, the tyrannosaurus must have killed it while attempting to raid the nest. The females fought back, judging by how they were positioned around the dinosaur. Note the breakages in the tyrannosaur’s teeth … the dragons seem to have had scales thick enough to be like armour.”

He glanced to Vermis, who nodded for him to go on.

“These female dragons are about the size of elephants, but the male is almost twice that. It was this one that killed the dinosaur. See the scratch marks on the dinosaur skull? They match the male’s talons. But look at the charring on the bones. It looks like they were blasted by some intense heat. We took samples, which proved to be primarily methane, oxygen and hydrogen. In addition, there were traces of platinum. We did some experiments, and this mixture creates an intense fire.”

“Volcanic? Something in the environment?”

Francis shook his head. “There was organic matter in it as well. DNA. These gases and metals were biologically formed.”

“So you are telling me that dragons used to exist?” There was a curious note of apprehension to Vermis’ question, which was not the reaction Francis might have expected.

“Oh, no,” Francis replied with a grin, preparing to deliver the rest of the news. “We found more eggs. Many more. In a cave just south of this site, a cave recently revealed during an earth tremor, we came across a series of eggs that show the dragons in progressive stages of change.”

“Change?”

He didn’t understand why Vermis failed to share his own thrill, and moved rapidly through the images, talking faster, sweating as much from excitement as from the overpowering heat of the fireplace.

“As you can see,” he said, “with each stage, the dragons changed. Over several successive generations, they lost their wings, going from six limbs to four. Then, becoming bipedal. The tails disappearing. Opposable thumbs and toes developing. The face flattening.”

“How do you know this isn’t some sort of a hoax?” Vermis challenged.

“Because the cave was sealed, all eggs were the same size, about twice the size of a rugby ball. All preliminary tests show they are of the same structure, the skeletons retaining the honeycomb structure.” He zoomed in on an image of several skulls arranged in a row. “Observe these bizarre markings. They follow sequential patterns. Almost like numbers. As if in a series of successive experiments. They were breeding, changing –”

“Evolving,” Vermis said.

“At an impossibly accelerated rate.” With that, Francis showed a photo of a final egg, but the fine-boned skeletal remains inside barely resembled a dragon at all.

“It looks almost human,” said Vermis.

“Yes! But look at the skull … the backswept forehead, the elongated conical shape … just like the classic depictions of gods and aliens as seen in the art of Central American civilizations, and Egypt during the reign of Akhenaten.”

“Are you suggesting dragons lived alongside mankind?”

“More than that … they evolved to look like us!”                           

Vermis fell silent and snubbed out his cigarette. He moved closer to Francis, deeply focused on the images.

As he did so, Francis noticed that his host had no eyelashes, and wondered why he’d never been aware of that peculiar characteristic before. He then noticed that, despite the roaring fire, Vermis wasn’t dripping in sweat as Francis himself was. There was a sheen to his skin, but Vermis wasn’t sweating.

He remembered, for no reason at all, that although Vermis had smoked that cigarette down to the butt, there’d been no flick of a lighter or flare of a match that he could recall.

Vermis reached over without asking and took the iPad from Francis’ hands. As he moved, Francis thought he smelt something … a hint of methane?

“Who else knows about this?” George Vermis asked. “Have you shown anyone?”

“Only the team you gave me.” Still perplexed by his benefactor’s reaction, Francis tried again to drum up some enthusiasm. “What do you think, isn’t this the find of a lifetime?”

“It is.”

Then Vermis threw the iPad into the fire.

‘NO!!!’ shouted Francis.

In disbelief, without thinking, he rushed to the fire to save the evidence. But Vermis grabbed his shoulder in a grip that almost shattered the bone, and threw Francis across the room. He roared like an animal as he did so.

Stunned, Francis stared up at the man walking closer to him. He saw Vermis’ eyes alter, the whites and the blue of the irises splitting vertically, parting, opening as if they were eyelids themselves. Revealed beneath them were reptilian eyes.

He touched a remote, which switched off the lights so that only the crackling flames lit the room.

“You’re right, we have evolved,” he said. His words seemed to hiss. “We needed to, in order to survive what was coming to destroy the dinosaurs. It took us centuries to alter our DNA to become what we are. But I cannot let you reveal our existence.”