the Discovery of the Lynx Machine | Old Saybrook Blockhead #4

Walking through the forest, Ballyraven is investigating an alleged UFO crash site. While they expected to find a meteorite or some failed, human invention, they found something much more interesting - and much more alive!

CREDITS
This public broadcast is made possible thanks to these BCWPA Agents: Brandon Ruch, Colten Williams, Daniel Berry, Donovan Scherer, Kimberly Nichols, Layla Leutwyler, Madelynn ODell, Matthew Schang, Pyper Wilson, Lenin Roman, Ronald Miller, PHouseGames, Anthony Ferries, Dandan, Fox & Brambles, Jim Walke, Claire, Hallesy, Heather, HELGA, Kris Mitchell, Kylie Reed, Rick Belcher, Cryptid Clyde, T. Carter Ross, Agus Mercado, Ead Daniels, Elizabeth Lukjanczuk, Shelby Fulton, Veronica Mulvaney, Zodiac Gaming Industry, Mr. Blue Sky   

Hairy Fairy Hotaruna by  Monroeville Music Center is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution License. 

NOTE
In the Field and its free, public broadcasting are fictional and for entertainment only. Real life stories and events have been altered for storytelling; real life stories, myths, and legends are well-researched for each episode. 

Transcript

Not all would consider it an animal.

More would find it to be a living thing. A frightening, living thing. On some barren planet, it would be a marvel of life. Here, though, among the trees and birds and myself, it doesn’t feel alive. 

A red tentacle reaches out, grasping at nothing, reaching out to nothing. It swings up, right, down, then left and condenses back into itself. Its lower, skirt-like body trembles, swirling with a hundred round muscles or mechanisms that push against the ground. Its body stiffens, the boxy, puffy scales of its hide squishing into a series of thin, bunched up wrinkles. A hum sounds from within the creature. With a sudden burst of energy, it jolts upward but slides back down the broken tree that impales it.

It stills, and a repetitive sound begins–the sound of an old, overheated printer. Is it thinking? Is it assessing its situation? Its glassy head flashes red for a millisecond and it repeats itself once more.

A red tentacle reaches out, this time from the opposite side of the body. It swings up, right, down, crashing into a, now, leafless and thorny bush, then left. As it condenses back into itself, it exhibits no sign that the thorns piercing into its limb caused pain. It does not acknowledge its surroundings at all. A wet, clear liquid oozes from the pricks in its arm; the substance pools within the pattern of its skin, filling the deep ridges around its evenly spaced, marble-like scales. Its body trembles, swirling futilely as it pushes against the ground but makes no lateral movement. Its body tightens and it jumps again. The action stretches its wound, pulling it diagonally from its neck down to its flat bottom. A perfect hole encapsulates the broken wood inside the creature’s head; no cracks form around the entrance or exit wound. As it slides up and down the stick, the wound’s edge scrapes against the small tree’s trunk.

Cautiously walking closer, I examine its body. Unlike the bright red arm, here, where the body is torn, there is no clear liquid. Anticipating its movement, I pivot to the creature’s right side. It pays me no mind. It has already delivered its message to me, to the birds, to the alarmed deer that passed by and froze in fear. Inside of it is a dark emptiness. Against its hide, like a mesh of matted hair, are thin, writhing, black strands. As the red arm makes its movements, the hair vibrates. As the red arm condenses, they shiver violently. As the body tenses, they coil tightly, pulling the outer skin down, tucking layers inside. As the creature jumps, each hair extends upward with force; each strand relaxes as it slides down. Red light flashes from the head and travels down the strands quickly, almost imperceptibly.

It repeats itself.