The Kitsune, Part 3

Even though the voice raved at it him with its venom-fanged verboseness, he felt lonesome, a forsaken itch gnawing at his skin-- it was only he in these woods. Everything else had hidden away under their collective blankets. Do you plea for them, my fox dream? Plea for them to emerge from the night shadows and save your tenderness from the boogy-woogy man? Ain't going to happen, cupcake, it growled. Ain't even going to happen. You're mine for always.

 

He was helpless against it. There was no escape from the nothingness.

His Master was a force of not nature, perhaps, but anti-nature… maybe even anti-matter. 

He could see ITs face… no it wasn't a face, it was a blank space with white shining teeth, like the Cheshire Cat, and burning red eyes. They shot into him, seeing his soul, all of it, all of its cracks, indentations, cuts. IT knew. IT knew everything. His MASTER had walked upon the earth once, wearing sandals, speaking a tongue of hate. NOW it could only speak through others, many many others throughout the years. It was the creepy crawling spider beneath the dark ocean waves, It was the sinking feeling in your groin when you hear a beloved is dying. It was division, it was the crossroad demon at midnight, it was the grand schism-maker with its sheath, destroying matter and defecating it into formless mass.

I'm growing tired of you, foxdream. The smile expanded until it connected to the back of its barren skull. Do your job, and I'll give you the world.

 

He knew the Master did not lie.

A vision flashed through his eye, snapping like one of those trick noisemakers kids use on the 4^th of July. It was a valley lush with trees growing toward the moon, untouched by man's grimy hands, so used to digging through the dirt, and dragons roosted in them in nests made of gems and straw. There were thousands of them. They were the size of 747's, yes, but also smaller juveniles-- maroon, the darkest of blacks, the goldest of golds. Their scaly hides reflected the sun, and their cooing, their growling, sounding like giant birds. The fox-men… they also climbed through the trees, tending the lionhearts, feeding them meats from the kill, vegetables harvested from the fields far to the east. Men, men were trash in the dirt… they had no place in the foxdream's world. The vision had been so perfect he had almost forgotten about IT, but the voice returned, like a demon sliding into a sick person's conscious. Or I'll take it away, the creeping said, I'll take it all away. I'll kill that whom is closest to you, the only man which you care. I'll kill him.

“No,” he spoke aloud. “Please no.”

Then do as I say. 

“I will,” he pleased. “I will, Master.”