Colin Francis Barnes

Kyle ran to the bottom of the garden, kicking his football against the fence as he went. When he reached the bottom, he vaulted over the low gate and headed into the wooded area populated by mature oaks. The woodland was protected with the ‘ancient woodland’ status. Kyle’s mother had always told him not to go into the woods on his own, but his school friends had dared him to go in and stay until dark.

Kyle was not particularly bright, and thus a dare became a simple task, one he would gladly do to gain some kudos with his pals. That, and he was quite happy to piss of his mother who had been on at him all week about the holes in his school trousers. 

The woods were quiet, the thick blanket of vegetation and eons old wide trunks managing to damper the sound of the motorway that lay just 50 meters to the perimeter. He also wouldn’t have heard his mother shouting for him to come in for tea.

Just two hours in here and I’ve won the bet! He thought to himself as he walked further into the dense woodland. 

He began to kick his ball against some large tree trunks, and wondered how he was going to pass the time without getting bored. I’ll build a camp to sit in!   He looked around on the floor to find a suitable spot; most of it was covered with large knotty tree roots which would have been hard to sit on. As he was kicking away the leaves and plants that covered the floor he heard a metallic sound and felt something solid under-foot.

He bent down to investigate; wiping away the dirt, leaves and insects from the metal item, he unearthed a box. It looked like his grandad’s old ammo boxes. Although this one was chrome, and shiny rather than military green. The box was heavy as he lifted it out of the dry soil, and inside came a chinking rattling noise. He couldn’t open the box, the latch was stuck fast. 

In his excitement of discovery, he forgot about his dare and rushed home to show his mother his great find.

“What have I told you about going into them woods! I’ve told you a thousand bloody times for godsake!” His mother shouted at him as he began to tell her where he found the box.

“But mum, I was just getting my ball back — honest! Open the box, there might be treasure inside!” He said. His excitement making him jump up and down as he spoke.

“There’ll be no treasure, it’s probably just rubbish, here let me try the latch.” His mother said. She took the box from the young boy and using a pair of pliers from the small tool drawer in the kitchen she began to pry it open. With a sharp ‘twang’ the latch came away from the box, the lid now free. They both peered inside. Kyle expecting gold, his mother expecting something stinky.

Inside were three beakers, the kind you get in science class at school, but with lids. Clear lids. There was something dark inside the beakers, it wasn’t liquid as they were light. Kyle’s mother began to pick one up and stared into it while holding it up to the window in the kitchen. She saw dark smoke slowly swirling around inside.

“What is it?” Said Kyle.

No response from his mother. Her facial expression now changed from curiosity to something else; was it fear? Kyle couldn’t be sure, he hadn’t seen his mother like this before. Her eyes narrowed, and the corners of her mouth motioned downwards and twitched into a frown, beads of sweat started to form on her brow and drip down her nose. She remained unmoving, only the expression on her face belied her thoughts. A tear welled up in her eye.

“Run!” She said quietly to Kyle, her body still unmoving. Her hand that held the beaker began to tremble. She opened her mouth and let out a terrifying scream. A piercing unnatural scream. The beaker fell from her hand and smashed onto the floor; the black swirling smoke stayed low to the ground and gathered around her feet. With intent it began to rise up her legs, then her waist.

“Mum! What is it? Kyle said. His voice full of terror, his face red and puffy where had began to cry. He kicked out at the black smoke in a panic. It remained coiled around his mother, her body and face now completely obscured.

“RUN, RUN RUN!” Was all Kyle could here from within the smoke. Her voice now muffled and hoarse. ”Death, son, they are beakers full of death!” The final word she spoke with a choking cough. The smoke had entered her airways, infiltrated through her ears, nose and mouth, intelligently heading for her lungs. She couldn’t breathe.

Kyle watched his mother fall to the ground, her hands clutched around her throat. Her eyed buldged double out of her sockets, and blood. Blood seeped from her nose and mouth, it was black where it had mixed with the smoke. 

Kyle ran. He ran like he never ran before.

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Author’s Note:

This was a silly pulp story that I quickly wrote as I got inspired by a friend on ‘Twitter’ @martyndarkly. He was talking about an original Star Trek Series episode where they uttered the wondful line of: “Without computers to check…these could be beakers full of death!” Fantastic stuff!