Cradle of the Flats
The engine sputtered and died, leaving me stranded on the loneliest stretch of I-80. I was heading to Cali, chasing the same dream so many had before me. “Gonna make it big,” I’d told my folks before I left, but like always, they just laughed at me. The salt flats stretched endlessly around me, and under the full moon, it looked like a frozen ocean. I stepped out of the car, cursing my luck as the salt under my boot crunched. Smoke billowed from the hood, curling into the night, and that’s when I saw it—just beyond the haze. Maybe someone had stopped to help? I checked my phone, no bars. "Hey!" I called, forcing a smile. "Any chance you’ve got service?" The figure didn’t move, didn’t answer. It just stood there, swaying slightly from left to right, like a pendulum. My chest tightened, but I stepped toward it, the beam of my phone’s flashlight trembling in my hand. The air grew heavier, and the salt beneath my feet seemed to shift, alive with anticipation. Then I heard it: a wet, dragging sound, followed by gurgling, like something savoring the moment. My heart pounded as I turned to get back to my car. But it was already behind me. An old man with wisps of hair barely clinging to his scalp. Its body crusted with salt that glittered like shards of glass embedded in rotting muscle. The salt preserved what was left, but patches of decay clung to its body, the flesh peeling away like wet paper. Its wings—if you could call them that—were enormous, grotesque hands sprouting from its back. The fingers dragged on the ground, the nails scraping deep grooves in the salt, twitching and curling as though they had a will of their own. Its face had no eyes, just sunken pits burned shut like withered raisins. Yet, I felt its gaze—a suffocating weight that rooted me to the spot. It convulsed as it spoke, its words rasping out like a grandfather that knows his time is coming soon, “You... shouldn’t... be here.” The wings snapped open with a sickening crack, the fingers curling and flexing like claws. Before I could scream, they wrapped around me, their leathery touch searing my skin as the salt bit into my flesh. It cradled me like a child and flew into the night, the air rushing past as I struggled uselessly. I tried to scream, but it only patted my head and hummed. When we landed, it dragged me across the dunes, my body limp, the salt scraping against me with every pull. The mouth of its lair yawned before us—a black cavern, jagged and glistening, like the throat of a beast that had just swallowed something whole. With no hesitation, it snapped my legs. The sound of bone breaking and tearing through my skin rang through the cavern as it tossed me aside like garbage. I screamed for help, but the only answer was the creature rummaging through its collection—a pile of broken toys, tarnished trinkets, and other mementos from those it had taken before. It brought over a slinky and played with it in front of me, watching intently, waiting. I know now, I should have played along. There are others here too, tied and pinned to the walls, their bodies crusted in the salt. It doesn't like it too much when we try to talk but it feeds us, keeps us alive, even strokes our heads as if it cares. But still, after all this time it doesn't quite feel like home. He doesn’t laugh at me though, so that’s something.
