Worse Than His Bite

Chapter 8: Cold and stormy night

Something was outside the tent.

Sebastian had said it with such certainty, but when Phineas strained his eyes he could hear nothing. Well not nothing, but not anything strange.

Wind rustled the fabric of the tent. The tarpaulin marbled and waved like a white ocean washing over his head.

The wind itself was overwhelmingly loud. It bellowed its torturous cry that echoes all around them. The piece of fabric of the tent that was left loose for the entrance flicked wildly as if trying to shoo off the storm itself to no avail. The trees groaned in pain as they forcibly pushed back and forth by the pressure of the gale, the leaves rattled against one another. That was all Phineas could hear: the fast approaching gale that grew wilder by the second.

How Sebastian could hear anything other than that astounded him.

How could Sebastian hear anything?

Phineas was going to tell him that it was probably just the wind, because it probably was all things considered. However, there was something about the rigid pose of Sebastian that kept his tongue still.

Sebastian was standing dead straight, no muscles moved, he didn't even blink. His eyes, those terribly black eyes were transfixed on the wall of the tent. No, it was as if he was watching something just outside of the tent. They were fixed in one position until Sebastian's eyes began to follow something Phineas could not see. Sebastian's nose twitched a few times as if trying to catch a smell. All Phineas could smell was dirt.

It must have been a trick of the light, the sun was quickly setting and Scotland was hardly known for its sunshine. That must've been it, but still, Phineas could've sworn that the shadows on Sebastian's face grew longer, his height shifted slightly higher and his shoulders broadened. A trick of the light that was all. There definitely wasn't something eerily uncanny about Sebastian in that moment.

Sebastian's eyes continued to follow an invisible figure until he was facing the door. He took a step backwards, reached a hand behind him and gestured for Phineas to come closer to him. The vague rumours of what horrific fate had befallen the archeologists before him creeped into the back of his mind and scared him enough to move forward and press himself closely to Sebastian's back.

Maybe they were on an incline, but Phineas' head hardly reached the centre of Sebastian's chest. Before he could've sworn that —despite how tall Sebastian was— Phineas was at least shoulder level.

Phineas peeped out from behind Sebastian and looked at the entrance himself. It was dark outside. The tent door would occasionally flicker open because of the wind. Phineas expected to see a monster or a blood covered killer or Leo. There was nothing. Nothing at all.

He stepped out from behind Sebastian. How silly to get swept away with a little spook. Back to work.

He didn't get very far. Even he didn't miss the faint sound of a small crunch from outside the tent. In an instant, Sebastian grabbed Phineas' hand and pulled him back behind him. Was there really someone? He was too scared to look this time.

All was still.

The storm raged on and for a moment Phineas thought he heard the rumbling of thunder. He'd never liked thunder storms. He pressed himself even more against Sebastian's back. He refused to let go of his hand as well, even when something sharp pressed into the tender flesh of Phineas' hand. His head fell against Sebastian's back and he realised that it was not thunder at all.

Sebastian's chest was rumbling. A deep and threatening sound. It grew louder as the entrance to the door was fully pushed open and someone padded inside.