The Vorrh

two seemed to be alike: some were shrunken and inverted, while others hung or coiled out of their bodies with wasteful abandon. He was reminded of ‘Lesson 93: Invertebrates of the Oceans (Certain Soft-bodied Sea Creatures)’, and wondered if their sex organs might indeed be a separate species that shared a symbiotic relationship with their host. How they used them to mate was beyond even his conjecture.
    These far-off speculations stopped him from running or fainting with fear, which he knew would be an instant trigger to his demise. They moved closer, and he froze. They touched him, held his legs and looked up into his eye, their proximity betraying a violent odour that matched their speech patterns. Suddenly, without warning, a searing pain made Ishmael scream out into the trees. A thin hardwood blade had been pushed into the Achilles tendon of his right leg; they were making sure he would not run away. The pain made him fall, and the others pinned him down while a second hobble was stabbed in. He yelled and thrashed, but there were too many of them. Their strength, smell, arms, legs and genitals flapped and fastened him, while others unsheathed more pointed sticks.
    Suddenly, there was an almighty explosion, and the creature holding his leg split apart, the two halves of its upper body flying in opposite directions, leaving the tottering legs standing comically for a second or two. The arms remained connected to each piece of raw meat, spurting mud-coloured blood as they tried to hold on to the ground or crawl off. A second creature was hit in the back, and the great sound pushed his splintered ribcage out through his puzzled face; this one did not even twitch.
    The creatures fled the ambush, vanishing into the undergrowth with a practised speed and agility. Ishmael rolled on the ground in agony, straining to see who or what the weapon belonged to – was it better or worse than the horrors he had just been saved from?
    ‘What kind of thing are you?’ barked a voice that was out of sight. ‘Don’t look around; lie still or you will bleed to death. Now, answer my question, or I will destroy you like I destroyed your little brothers.’
    ‘They are no brothers of mine,’ said Ishmael through clenched teeth.
    ‘Then what are you?’ said the booming voice, the Mars Fairfax pointing at Ishmael’s spine from behind an old oak tree.
    ‘I am a man with one eye.’
    It seemed like a reasonable answer: that was indeed what the writhing creature appeared to be.
    ‘I can help you, if I trust you,’ said the voice. ‘Keep still and put your hands in front of your face where I can see them.’
    ‘What are you?’ grimaced Ishmael.
    ‘I am Williams,’ said the voice at last, ‘and I am a man with four eyes.’
    * * *

    Tsungali was drinking from the earthen bowl when he heard the shots. He thought he was the only one who dared fire a gun in the forest. Perhaps other hunters shared his pursuit? The sound was foreign, not like any gun he had heard before, but it had given him a clear direction, and his stalking took on a more purposeful intent.
    The stinking brown blood was still drying on his arm where the thing had bled to death, his kris driven along its shoulder blade to find its heart, or its brain, or whatever else it was that had once powered the yellow demon. It had been tracking him for days; Tsungali had allowed himself the water and thrown the food away, preferring his own dried supplies. Then he had circled back on the demon and killed it from behind. It was one that his grandfather had told him of, the demons that eat hunted human flesh. Any doubts he might have had were quickly dispersed when he saw what his victim wore over its swollen cock and balls: a makeshift bowl, which on closer examination proved to be the skull cap of a man, the skin and bright red hair still attached.
    Tsungali gathered some vines and tied them around the large, pointed feet of his fallen hunter, hoisting the demon up to swing in the trees and show its unseen herd that fear had entered their lives. As he did so, he saw a small movement in the creature’s armpit. He grabbed the body to stop it swinging, and took a closer look. Under each armpit was hidden a small, delicately woven spear of grass. It was attached to the skin by curved thorns that hooked it in place. Each spear contained a human eye. He cut the little cages out of their hiding place and examined them, one in each hand. Then he saw it, and the shock made