In the Light of the Constant Moon
In the Light of the Constant Moon
Short Fiction: A space station prepares for the arrival of a new crew, but someone is not who they seem to be
“When they found her body,” Fleming said, “she had been torn to pieces. Her corpse was nearly unrecognizable.”
Rowland listened as the doctor spoke. He is a master storyteller, she thought. She strained to hear his words over the hissing of the oxygen generators and the constant flexing of the old station’s inner hull.
Fleming continued. “Of course, they didn’t have a true understanding of human psychology in the 16th century,” he said. “To the authorities, only a monster could be responsible for such an act… some kind of horrific beast.”
“That fascinates me,” Rowland said. “I grew up loving the old monster movies of the 20th century.”
“Me too,” Fleming said.
“It’s just so interesting to me that those old folktales probably originated when some 16th century version of Jeffrey Dahmer murdered and cannibalized a villager,” Rowland remarked.
Fleming nodded his head.
“But things were so much better in the old days, weren’t they?” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Rowland laughed and said “Yeah. Right.”
The irony of discussing 16th century folk tales while approaching geostationary orbit around the moon, 88,000 kilometers above the surface, was not lost on her, but you had to do something to break the monotony.
Lieutenant Audrey Rowland gazed at the doctor. Abraham Fleming was an attractive man, Rowland thought, but he was a little too old for her. She had been alone on the station for almost 180 days when he arrived, and although it would have been nice to have a romantic liaison, she was simply glad to have someone to talk to. They’d spent the last two days telling stories as they awaited the arrival of the shuttle. It had been Doctor Fleming’s idea to turn out the station’s lights and tell stories by the glow of the amber emergency lamps, like the campfire stories Lieutenant Rowland had enjoyed as a child on Earth.
A crumb broke off Fleming’s protein bar and floated away when he took a bite, but he reached out and snagged it, popping it into his mouth with the rest. Rowland spent most of her time in the single-g environment of the wheel, but since Fleming had arrived, they’d been hanging out in the cathedral, floating free of the grip of artificial gravity, with the brightly-lit disc of the lunar surface shining in the window.
“Eventually,” Fleming continued, “they zeroed-in on Peter Stumpp.”
“He was the killer?” Rowland asked.
“Well, that’s what they said,” Fleming answered. “According to the authorities, he killed at least 18 people, including women and children, over a period of 25 years. He mutilated and cannibalized his victims.”
“My god,” she said.
“I know,” the doctor responded, “Terrible, but just the kind of thing we see in the news every day, now.”
“And did they think he was some kind of monster?” she asked.
“Of course,” Fleming said. “They alleged that Stumpp had made a pact with the devil. Supposedly, Lucifer gave him a magical belt that allowed him to transform into a wolf, and that allowed him to perpetrate his attacks with the strength and ferocity of a monstrous beast.”
A tone sounded from a control panel and Rowland took a moment to tend to her station-keeping duties.
“How did you get this assignment, Lieutenant?” Fleming asked.
“I was held over after the end of the last crew,” she answered. “Nobody volunteered, so they volunteered me.” She smirked. “How about you?”
Doctor Fleming looked away as he spoke, in a manner that made her think he was ashamed to be there.
“Well,” he said. “I requested this assignment.”
Rowland raised her eyebrows.
“Really?” she asked. “You were the head of UEA Medical Operations, weren’t you? Why would you request a tour on this old tub?”
“Ah,” the doctor said and waved his hand. “The old difference of opinion dilemma.”
“What do you mean?” she questioned.
“The alliance doesn’t always agree with my research agenda,” he said. “But there’s so much downtime out here,” he said, and paused.
“I can concentrate on what matters to me.”
Doctor Fleming looked out the window. He could see a slowly disappearing sliver of darkness on the moon’s horizon as the lunar station approached geostationary orbit.
“So, Doctor, what’s the conclusion to your story?” Rowland asked.
“Stumpp?” he asked. “They tortured him until he confessed. He said he’d been practicing witchcraft since the age of 12. He also admitted to incestuous relationships with his family and other heinous acts, including cannibalism.”
“Under torture?” Rowland asked. “People will say anything…”
Fleming looked at her intently and she thought he was exceptionally masculine for a man of medicine, with broad muscular shoulders and a full beard. His dark brown eyes were haunting.
“He was placed on a wheel and his flesh was torn with red-hot pincers,” Fleming said, his tone grave. “His limbs were broken with the blunt side of an axe to prevent his return from the grave.”
“Jesus Christ,” Lieutenant Rowland moaned.
“In the end, he was beheaded, and his body was burned,” Fleming continued. “His mistress and 13-year-old daughter were accused of participating in his crimes, and they were executed alongside him.”
A loud tone sounded and Rowland flinched.
“Geostationary orbit in ten minutes,” a computer voice announced.
“How far out is the shuttle?” the Doctor asked, their moment of campfire camaraderie broken.
Rowland checked a control panel. “About forty-five minutes.”
“Cut it kind of close, didn’t you?” Fleming asked the Lieutenant.
“I couldn’t move this bucket any quicker without risking the structural integrity of the whole place,” she responded. “It’s all good. We’ll be fully lit and locked by the time the crew arrives.”
“Hey, I didn’t say thank you for the way you welcomed me,” Doctor Fleming said. “Having actual hot coffee and a meal ready wasn’t something I expected.”
The doctor smiled.
“It was my pleasure,” Rowland said, returning his grin.
“You wanna greet the crew the same way?” he asked. “I’m perfectly capable of monitoring this,” he said as the computer spoke again.
“Geostationary orbit in nine minutes.”
Rowland smiled again. “I’ll go fire it up in the galley,” she said.
Doctor Fleming nodded and Audrey floated down the central hub to the wheel, then descended the ladder until she felt a single artificial G pull her feet to the floor. She walked the rest of the way to the galley and she flipped on the light switch.
At the same instant the hatch leading to the hub slammed shut. Air hissed and an alarm blared. A computer screen above the sink flashed to life.
“DECOMPRESSION SEQUENCE INITIATED”
Doctor Fleming’s face appeared on the screen.
“Do you ever wonder if science got it all wrong, Rowland?” the doctor asked.
“Fleming! What the fuck?” she shouted. “What are you doing?”
“Geostationary orbit in six minutes,” the computer called out.
“We’ve spent all this time assuming tales of monsters and werewolves were misidentified serial killers and lunatics,” Fleming said.
Lieutenant Rowland’s ears popped as the air pressure dropped in the galley.
“But what if we’ve got it backwards?” Fleming asked. He had a crazy look in his eye.
“What if we’ve been misidentifying monsters as run-of-the-mill serial killers?” he asked.
“What are you talking about?” she yelled
Rowland ran back along the curved floor of the wheel to the ladder and ascended to the hatch. The central locking mechanism would not budge. She returned to the galley and withdrew a keyboard, tapping at it frantically.
“I’ve already locked you out,” Doctor Fleming said. His tone was flat and emotionless.
“Doctor, PLEASE!” she yelled. “I’m gonna die in here,” she said. It was already getting hard to breathe.
The doctor stared into his monitor.
“It’s such a cruel tragedy,” he said. “To have this genetic gift in your family, but you’re only able to enjoy it once a month. There’s no sensation like it.”
The doctor was ranting, in a state of rising fervor.
“Geostationary orbit in four minutes.”
“Your heart pumps faster and your body feels like it’s operating at 200% capacity when the moon is full. The feeling you get when you spring from the shadows and rip the throat out of an unsuspecting victim is incomparable ecstasy,” the doctor offered.
Rowland couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She struggled to inhale but couldn’t fill her lungs. She hammered one hand on her keyboard and brought up the shuttle status readout.
“UEA SHUTTLE 152, CREW COMPLEMENT: 47”
Fleming floated to the window and looked out at the lunar surface. “In just over three minutes,” the Doctor said with a deviant chuckle, “I will be there always. In the light of the constant moon, I will be forever the wolf.”
Rowland’s eyelids were heavy and blood began to trickle from her nose, over her top lip, and onto the floor.
“Doctor, please,” she said, pleading for her life.
“And when the shuttle arrives,” he said, “I will share my gift with all of them.”
The doctor shuddered and doubled over.
“Geostationary orbit in two minutes.”
The face of the moon was almost completely lit, and when the doctor stood at full height once again, Rowland could see his features had begun to change. Even on her small screen, she could see his teeth had grown into canine incisors and his mouth and nose protuded into a wolf-life snout.
The computer called out “Geostationary orbit in one minute.”
It was the last thing Rowland heard before she lost consciousness.
“UEA Lunar Station, come in please,” the shuttle pilot called. “UEA Lunar Station, this is UEA Shuttle 152, come in.”
The mission commander entered the cockpit. “Anything yet, Major?”
“They decompressed the wheel, Sir,” the pilot said, “but nobody will answer my calls. It’s just been… weird noises coming back.”
“Weird noises?” the commander asked. “What kind of weird noises?”
The men looked out the shuttle’s cockpit window at the station, alone and backlit by the lunar surface.
“I’m embarrassed to say it, sir,” the pilot said.
“Out with it, Collins!” the commander barked.
“It… it sounded like a howl, sir.”
Troy Larson is a writer, digital content creator, and broadcast veteran with hundreds of podcast and broadcast credits to his name. Reach out on Facebook and on Instagram.