Saturday, November 19, 2011
A fresh "drabble" (ultra-short-story) today, based off of a supposedly true story I heard once. It was from an anonymous source, so take its veracity with a grain of salt. Still, makes for a pretty good story.
Nov. 19th, 2011- Aaron Matthew Smith
We shoved through the bare trees, frozen grass and underbrush crunching beneath our boots. After hours of hiking I could finally see the clearing up ahead.
“I’m tired, Justin,” Chad said. “Are we there yet?”
“It’s right here!” I’d told Chad I’d found something weird out in the woods. I knew he’d never believe me unless I brought him here. I ran out into the clearing, aware that Chad was still standing in the treeline. I listened carefully, and in the center of the clearing I heard it. My footsteps on the frozen dirt were suddenly replaced by a hollow metal clang in the chill afternoon air.
“What is it?” Chad said, too scared to approach.
"Don't know," I said. “I didn’t want to look by myself.” I bent over and tore the weeds away, revealing one of hundreds of metal drums I’d found buried in the Arkansas woods. I scraped the dirt off of the round, rusted top, my gloved hands fighting the corroded cap free.
Noxious fumes hit me like a tidal wave and I feel onto my butt, colors swimming in front of my eyes. I leaned over and puked, splattering my gloves. Chad was shouting something, but I was too sick to even turn to look at him. He must’ve dragged me out of the clearing, because the next thing I knew we were running, Chad half carrying me.
“What was it?” Chad gasped.
I started to talk when another wave of nausea rolled over me. Whatever it was, it wasn’t supposed to be there. We needed help.