Road Kill

CW: Descriptions of dead animals

The first body was at the crossroads. The dead were once buried there to stop them from rising again. Or to hide their shame. The worst part was that it was a hare. Magical creatures with fairy blood that can run through fire and between worlds. And here was one flattened by countless, thoughtless tyres. I didn’t know whether it was more or less respectful to look at it; to bear witness. My eyes trailed across the long legs, skirted over the confused centre, and rested briefly where the head had once been. The only recognisable thing that my mind could latch onto was its eye. Yellow, still somehow recognisably shaped. I wasn’t arrogant enough to think that it was looking at me. It was watching the world go by. The empty space in my chest grew a little.

The second body was hidden off the path. The ground sank with each step in a disconcerting way, and I had to focus on keeping my balance as I ventured further into the wood. The smell came first. It touched the warning points at the back of my head, and I looked around to find the danger. I followed the deer trail with my eyes and found it no more than a stagger length in front of me. My stomach lurched as I pictured stepping on it and feeling a bone break. It had deflated into a mournful puddle. I realised that the large white lumps were mushrooms slowly breaking it down into soil. I wondered if the deer had been caught by a passing car and survived long enough to stumble into the trees for a private end. I turned back towards the road, keeping a much closer eye on the ground.

The third was much more colourful. Bright feathers that hadn’t been mangled and coated with mud yet. From its head and neck, a splash of pink leaked onto the ground. It couldn’t have been long ago that this pheasant was running around, being called stupid for not recognising our imaginary boundaries. The freshness made my emotions roil; I felt my mind brush against the rough texture of an unknowable concept, and I shied away from the sensation. I scurried to the other side of the road, trying to get past it as quickly as possible.

While it was not uncommon to come across dead animals at the side of a country road, this was starting to feel ominous. I sat down on a stump to take stock. I could turn around here. The distance going back or pushing on was about the same. But the idea of turning around felt sharp and uncomfortable. My stomach told me that it was dangerous but gave me no details. The only feeling that I could shape into words was that something was stalking me. I stood up and kept following the road. I needed to move away from that sensation.

The fourth was slumped into the ditch. It was another deer, missing its hind legs, revealing the dark spiral of a hollow chest. This time I felt like I couldn’t look away. I was being drawn deeper into the cavity. It was like an abandoned grand building with peeling wallpaper. I was seeing something that shouldn’t be visible. But that wasn’t right. In another situation I could be crawling through its cracked ribs, gratefully eating it clean. I wrenched myself away. I kept my shoulders rigid as if that would protect me. My legs were starting to get tired. I wasn’t sure how long I had been walking, but something told me it shouldn’t have taken this long.

The fifth was still graceful, even though it was broken beyond repair. Its beautiful wings were fanned out so that I could see all of the feathers. It felt entirely wrong to see a bird of prey on the ground. I could never imagine them landing, only swooping low to snatch up dinner. Gravity had finally caught up with it. I remembered the hare at the crossroads. This bird might have hunted for it once. I realised that I had walked past an entire dead food chain. Not quite. Something was missing.

The prickling up my spine was so intense now that it was almost painful. The sky was dark. All the colours had faded. Something was looking at me. I wondered if it had front-facing eyes. The smell engulfed me, sickly sweet like spilled petrol. It sparked a jumbled memory of too many sensations packed into a short period of time. I heard the shift of what could have been fur or feathers rubbing over themselves. It was so close, but I couldn’t feel any heat from it. I was frozen, listening to its small movements. Then the sound of metal scraping. Very slowly, I rocked back infinitesimally and felt long, curved teeth press lightly against my neck. One choice. Strike out or run. My heart pounded in preparation. Then, softly, the answer settled in my chest. I leant back, and the pressure slowed my frantic thoughts and reassured me. I felt its head tilt.

‘Don’t leave me.’ I was tired of floating in this liminal space. This creature was certainty. The end of worry. An anchor.

For a long time there was no movement. Then a huge, feathered arm appeared, and the claws wrapped almost tenderly around my torso. It wasn’t holding me in place; it was just there. I took a step forward. It moved with me. We set off walking together. Whenever I felt like my mind was starting to drift away, all I had to do was lean against the talons and they would press in just enough to ground me. The road stretched on and on, and I felt my mind slot back into place. I remembered where I was going. I left the sixth body behind.

Rosie Beech is a writer and performer from Scotland. They produce the literary podcast Yorick Radio Productions and have created and directed several audio dramas, including I Will Wait for You (StAR Radio, 2019), Communicable 2020, and Secret Saint 2022. Their short stories include: I Curled with Bauchans (Crab Apple Literary), Salvage Me (The Selkie), and Wood Woes (Gramarye).