MonstrousMay 11. The Monster's Wings

"This is stupid," Luis said, kicking the tires of his beat up truck. He had driven them out to the boonies at Martin's (fairly rude) request. All to get pictures of the dilapidated house everyone had seen before. He was going to get "photographic proof" of the Widow Witch Ghost and become famous from the internet. If such a thing was even possible. "Burned a quarter tank just getting out here," he said, sulking.

"Then burn another quarter getting home," Martin said, half paying attention while fiddling with the camera he had "checked out" from the yearbook room. Luis was fairly certain it was stolen. "Borrowed" Martin would call it.

"Then your ass would be walking," Luis said. 

"Don't worry about my ass," Martin said. "This thing uses a freaking floppy disk," Martin said, baffled. Luis came to watch over his shoulder, though he didn't know much about cameras. Martin finally got it to turn on. The battery immediately lost half of its little chunks. "Cheese!" he said as he pointed it at Luis and took a picture. The camera whirred and clacked.

"Get your pictures," Luis said, his face growing hot. He hated having his picture taken. Besides, the sun was setting, and he didn't like the way the broken out windows and sagging door frame looked like a weeping face. He suddenly got a knot in his stomach, thinking about his dad's face, what he'd say if they were locked up for trespassing.

"Good idea. Since that's the whole reason we're here and all." Martin stomped up the slanted steps onto the porch. He got down on one knee and got a few close-ups of the chipped paint, the rotten wood. "You coming?" Martin asked as he walked through the open front door.

"I think I'll stay with the truck," Luis said. He looked up at the big yellow moon that hung just above the trees. His dad would say something about a bad moon rising.

"Suit yourself," Martin said, his voice trailing away. Luis breathed into his hands, trying to warm them. Every now and then, he saw a flash through a window. He could hear the whine of the floorboards as Martin made his way deeper into the house. "Holy shit!" Martin said. 

"What?" Luis hollered back, then looked around, afraid someone may have heard. He strained, trying to hear Martin. "Dude! What?" he asked.

The flashes had stopped. The house was quiet now, seemingly dead as a doornail. He jittered anxiously. If Martin had hurt himself, Luis would kill him. More time passed and Martin still hadn't made a peep. 

"If you jump out at me I'm going to punch you in the throat," Luis warned. He carefully climbed up onto the porch. Inside the front door piles of leaf litter, rat nests, and old beer cans lined the hallway. He cussed himself for not thinking to bring a flashlight. "Martin!" he said.

"In here," Martin said quietly. Luis felt his way into the dark interior. He turned a corner and saw Martin's face floating, illuminated by the camera's display. The room was big, the walls lost to shadow. It felt as big as a football field.

"What were you holy shitting?" Luis asked. Martin pointed at the far wall. 

"Look," he said, showing Luis the most recent picture. Atop all the dripping 666s and pentagrams doodled in spray paint was a mural of a moth. Its wings were stretched out, enormous owl eyes looking back at Luis from the view screen. Someone with some real talent had spent some time on it. He would've liked to see it in the daylight. But the night and the soupy moonlight in the next room was definitely doing something for it. "Go stand over there," Martin said. "It'll be a good size reference." Luis grumbled. "Just real quick, then we'll leave. Promise." 

Luis sighed and trudged over, waving his hands in front of him. "Point that over here," he said and Martin turned the display so Luis could see by its light. He had walked further than he thought. One of the yellow eyes was right in front of him. He turned around and flipped Martin off. 

"Hold that pose," Martin said, laughing. He snapped a few pictures, the flash blinding Luis. After the third or fourth he covered his eyes. Big squares of green and purple floated in the darkness. Luis couldn't see shit.

"Dammit, Martin," he said. "I'm half blind." Martin didn't say anything. His face flickered as he reviewed the images. Light, he was smiling. Darkness. Light again, and he wasn't.

"Let's go," Martin said flatly. His hand found Luis's and he gripped it hard. He pulled Luis back the way they had come. 

"Dude, use the light," Luis said. 

"No," Martin said and Luis dropped it. They made it back to the hallway fast enough. Martin was practically dragging Luis behind him. He dropped Luis's hand when they got to the truck and climbed in. "Okay, go," Martin said as Luis adjusted the mirror and buckled up. The truck coughed and sputtered to life. Luis flicked the headlights on. He took a last look at the house in the light. He felt like something might walk out to watch them from the window. 

Luis turned to look behind them as he backed down the overgrown driveway. Low branches scraped along the top of the truck. He could see Martin out of the corner of his eye. Martin was sitting bolt upright, looking straight ahead. They reached the road and Luis turned to get them back to his house.

"Pretty funny you went out there to get ghost pictures and got spooked," Luis said. Martin kept quiet. He kept flicking between the pictures. Luis tried to make conversation a couple more times, but Martin was lost in his photos. When they stopped, Luis reached over and grabbed the camera. "Here," he said.

"Don't," Martin said quietly, but didn't put up much of a fight. Luis looked at the first picture of the mural. The next, he was standing, middle finger in the air. The next, the wings had moved, pulling up off the wall. The next, a barbed leg was reaching out from beneath red eyes, round and shining in the flash. The next, it was standing up behind him, its head lost in shadow. 

The camera died. Luis looked to Martin, who had turned pale, staring back at him. No, not at him. At something behind him.