“A Cautionary Tale”—an Erotic Speculative Fiction Story
Oppressive or empowering, cruel or kind, tomorrow is what we make of it
Wire-stiff brambles stung, clawed, scratched, drew blood, mixing painful with terrified tears. But lips, though quivering feverishly, kept pressed tightly shut, aching screams swallowed whole.
They’re not like us, Louisa; they’re… different, in a bad way. I know, trust me, trust your mother, don’t let them catch you. Never let them catch you. Run, run as fast as you can—if you don’t, they’ll do terrible things to you.
Suddenly, shockingly, the world fell from underfoot; cruelly cold water sank needle-pointed teeth into first one foot, then both feet, ankles, calves—nearly cresting up and over thighs.
The too-bright stars, the too-brilliantly sharp crescent moon, was there then not—replaced by methodically sweeping, ultra-high-intensity lights: back and forth, up and down, stirring heart-pounding fright, breath-searing flight as they pinned a swaying, skeletal branch, a lazily bobbing log, or a cluster of gently swaying cattails.
Who told you about them? No, it doesn’t matter; they were right to do so. It’s… I wanted to tell you about them when you were old enough. You have to understand that some people are … they’re wrong, I guess you could say. They don’t see the world like we do. What? No, we don’t hate them, but it’s important to warn children like you, Louisa—my precious, innocent daughter—to stay far away from them … far, far, far away…
Balance—already precarious, hobbled by the culvert’s muddy bottom and tugging, shoving, freezing currents—teetering, and with it that chilling sound; the braying of surgically modified hounds, where once were baleful eyes now were pairs of glossy black ultrasonic phased arrays. Day or night, fog or not, their quarry inescapable.
Yes, my child, sorry to have to tell you, but the rumors you’ve heard are true; they are out there, waiting for the right moment to snatch you and others like you up, spirit you away to who-knows-where, and do horrifying things to you, to your body. Pray with all your might you’re never, ever seen by them. For if you are, they’ll pursue and, worse yet, capture you—and you do not ever want to know what’ll happen next—
A bank … no, an embankment; steeper than nature: a concrete, dirt-clodded, steeply-angled barrier rising higher than anyone could possibly reach. Madly clawing, ferociously digging into its frustratingly sodden crust, trying to get through, begging to gain the slightest purchase, haul up and free from the canal’s icy grip—only for hope to crumble while falling back with alarmingly loud splashes over and over again.
My cousin’s sister’s friend told me all about them, so I know it’s true! Like how they lure you in, seduce you with promises of illicit pleasure only to trap you, force you to do sexual things, then operate on you, make you into a monster, something horrible no one would, could ever love … laughing as they cut you up!
Fingers stabbing into the putrid, reeking loam, thrusting down, searching for something, anything solid enough to grip hold of, find any sort of leverage to fight the frigid current’s stubborn pull—
—then soggy dirt, not wet soil, not loose but firm, solid, unyielding… metal? Twisted rebar, remnants of a disused irrigation system? Didn’t matter; all that did was it didn’t move, and with wracking sobs, nearly hysterical screams, and every effort of strength, the culvert steadily fell behind.
Remember, students, as law-abiding, socially responsible citizens, it’s imperative you remain ever-vigilant. Stay away from unauthorized communication technologies, be wary of anyone who wants to be a so-called “friend,” and inform law enforcement personnel immediately if you have any suspicious encounters, however innocent they may initially appear. For they will use any trick or make any promise to get their filthy claws on you.
Up, on, and over to lay panting, chest heaving, at the top, staring unseeingly upwards, eyes glazed, cloudy from wind, cold, and tears, for a fleeting second unable to differentiate stars from moon.
Surrender was a sweet temptation: give up, let them come … but the hounds’ rapidly approaching, ear-aching ultrasonics and—new panic, new hysteria—the distinctive, overlapping whines of AI-networked autonomous microdrones were a galvanic jolt, forcing arms and legs to push, lift … and move!
They spit in the eye of everything pure, simple, and natural! Heed my words, Louisa, pervert the bodies of the innocent, condemn everyone they touch to the fires of hell! They are nothing short of evil, and for the safety of everyone who believes in the power of faith and community, they must be eradicated!
Hundreds or thousands of feet? A mile, two, three? Unsure, uncaring, unsure if runing in the right direction—grasping desperately to the clear reality of ears no longer aching, the stars and moon neither searchlights or drones.
A cyclical, warbling howl, an almost deafening windstorm, and with it running became tumbling backward, landing unceremoniously on the pebble-and-mud-puddle peppered path.
A dazzling, nearly blinding light silhouetted a trio of vague shapes, the nearest of which shrank as it knelt forward, extending an open hand, yelling against the helicopter’s deafening roar, “It’s okay … you’re safe!”
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Puddled together in a pool of late afternoon sun, Cansa’s rainbow-hued curls cascading across their bare stomach, their hand tightly knitted with his, both gazing lazily up at the starry sky mobile they’d made together, each knowing before paper met mache they’d inevitably lie under it—and shared a long, deep, relaxing, mutually contented, post-orgasm sigh.
“What was it like?” Cansa asked eventually. “Only if you want to—”
Louis smiled, wishing they could bend far enough forward to delicately kiss Cansa’s forehead, but settled for tenderly twirling one of his locks. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
After a deeper but less calming, more steadying breath, they said, “They’re not bad people; no one really is. I think they’re… well, they’re scared.”
“Of what? And why did they… treat you the way they did for all that time?”
Closing their eyes, briefly wrapping themselves in familiar darkness, Louis went on, “I’m not sure. I guess, I mean, maybe they’re frightened of happiness: to be who you truly are and—” sliding their hand gracefully along Cansa’s cheek “—love how and whoever you want.”
Image Sources: M.Christian
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