Embedded Files
The air on the uninhabited tropical island of Krakan, which lay approximately 100 miles south-west of O’ahu, was thick enough to chew. It clung to the skin like a wet wool blanket, heavy with the scent of rotting vegetation, damp earth, and rainforest flowers. Above the dense canopy of the jungle, the midday sun beat down with relentless, punishing fury, turning the film set of Tama the Untamable into a sweltering crucible.
Director and producer Steven DeMille wiped his brow with a large handkerchief, squinting through the viewfinder of his heavy camera rig. "And cut!" he barked, his voice cracking with exhaustion. "Take ten, people. The light's shifting anyway."
A collective groan rippled through the exhausted crew. Grips and gaffers dropped cables and stumbled for the canvas-shaded refreshment tent, desperate for lukewarm water.
In the center of the clearing stood Margo Munroe. Dressed in a rather revealing loincloth and a jaguar-skin halter top meant to evoke the fierce, untamed spirit of the fictional jungle queen Tama, Margo looked every bit the box-office draw. The luxuriant mass of her dark hair was wonderfully arranged so that it framed her stunning features, and the daring costume that she wore was filled out marvellously by her shapely figure. Despite the miserable conditions, she looked absolutely breathtaking—and dangerously furious.
She slammed her foot down into the dirt in a petulant stomp, glaring daggers at the man standing twenty feet away.
Edward Laurence, cast as the rugged explorer Max Donovan, who was searching for the lost city of Zor, stood uncomfortably near a towering fern. He was built like a Greek god, with a barrel chest, broad shoulders, and a chiseled jawline that had sent Apex Film Studios’ talent scout into a frenzy back in Hollywood. The studio executives hadn’t cared that Edward didn’t know his Markasite from his Macbeth. They didn’t care that his entire acting experience consisted of reciting lines of poetry to himself while mopping linoleum floors as a janitor at the Apex Studio lot. They saw the muscles, they saw the jaw, and they wrote him a check.
Margo Munroe saw the janitor. And she never let him forget it.
"Watch your footing, janitor," Margo snapped, her voice cutting through the humid air like a hot knife. "You're standing on my mark, or are you so used to scrubbing floors that you think a chalk line is just a bit of dirt?"
Several crew members turned away, cringing. It was the latest in a relentless barrage of snide remarks Margo had hurled at Edward since they had set foot on Krakan three days ago. Her haughty upper-class upbringing, combined with the sheer misery of the climate, had turned her temper into a hair-trigger.
Edward clenched his jaw, his fists tightening at his sides. He had tried to take the high road. He had tried to absorb her insults with the stoicism of a leading man. But beneath his amiable exterior beat the heart of a fellow with a healthy sense of pride, and his patience had finally evaporated.
Instead of retreating to the tent, Edward decided to cool his temper by examining the ruins, one of the reasons, along with the wonderful scenery of the island, that DeMille had chosen the location.
John Norton, who played Alex Maynard, Max Donovan’s partner and the villain of the plot, called out to him sympathetically as he walked past, “Is Margo giving you a hard time again?”
“Yeah,” grunted Edward as he continued walking, not in the mood for conversation at the moment.
In a few minutes, he arrived at the ancient structure, which was situated near the beach on a rise overlooking the island’s bay. It consisted of a large stone platform with steps leading up to it, and two small idols on either side of a larger one, mounted on a plinth, with additional treads before them. In front of the statues, there was a carved stone circle with strange, indecipherable symbols around its circumference. A French archaeological expedition had investigated the structure in 1905, and had mysteriously vanished without a trace. Since then, the island had acquired a bad reputation and was shunned by the scientific community. But the lure of an authentic lost civilization overrode such matters in the eyes of DeMille, who thought it would enhance box office sales more than any artificial set could ever do.
Edward mounted the stairs and walked onto the platform. He had helped the crew clear away some of the overgrowth to make filming easier, and the young man had to admit that the enigmatic statues with their weathered appearance, the riot of jungle and seascape in the background, and the aura of age that cloaked the ancient stones was something that a set of plywood and canvas couldn’t replicate. He gazed at the central carving on the surface of the platform. It looked a little like a magic circle, with its strange symbols incised around its edge, and he wondered about its significance. Eventually, his temper cooled to the point where he could be civil. Leaving the ruins, he strode back to the site, heading purposefully toward Steven DeMille, who was nursing a cup of tepid tea beside the monitor.
"Mr. DeMille," Edward said, his voice low and tight.
DeMille didn’t look up. "If this is about the heat, Edward, then go fan yourself,” he said testily. “You’re not the only one who is feeling it.”
Edward chose to ignore the borderline insult. "It’s not about the heat. It’s about Margo." Edward crossed his arms, the muscles in his biceps rippling. "We have to share a screen, and quite frankly, a kissing scene tomorrow. I expected a professional working environment, not a masterclass in condescension. My patience has been exhausted, and I’m tired of her attitude."
DeMille sighed, finally looking up through thick pince-nez spectacles. "Edward, my boy, she’s a star. Stars are temperamental. It comes with the box office receipts. Look, the humidity is frying everyone's nerves. Why don't you go talk to her? Make peace. Clear the air."
"Talk to her?" Edward scoffed. "She’d as soon cuddle a porcupine as talk to me."
"Go on," DeMille urged, waving a dismissive hand. "She took a walk down toward the river about twenty minutes ago to cool off. It’s shaded down there. Go be a gentleman. Charm her."
Reluctantly, Edward agreed. He muttered a quiet curse under his breath and began the trek away from the clearing, following a narrow, overgrown foot-track that wound deeper into the jungle. The rainforest canopy closed overhead, plunging the path into a damp, cathedral-like gloom. The hum of cicadas was grating, a relentless, unpleasant stridulation that vibrated in Edward’s ears.
After a ten-minute walk, the dense foliage gave way to the banks of one of the many streams that wound through the island’s dense jungle. The water ran dark and swift, cutting a cool path through the tropical hothouse. Edward parted a thick curtain of giant ferns, stepping quietly onto the muddy bank, ready to call out a polite greeting.
The words died in his throat.
There, just a few yards away, Margo Munroe was swimming. She was entirely nude, her pale skin glistening with water droplets as she glided through the current, and her dark hair floating around her shoulders like fine silk.
Their gazes met, and for a single, paralyzed second, Edward stood frozen, his eyes wide. Then, the shock broke. He instinctively took a half-step back, his face burning red. "I—I'm sorry," he stammered, raising his hands. "I didn't—"
But it was too late for an apology. The vulnerability of her exposure instantly roused Margo’s hot temper. Her dark eyes flashed with absolute fury, and her attractive features transformed into a look worthy of a harpy. With a savage curse, she ducked beneath the shallow water, scooped up a heavy river stone, and hurled it with terrifying velocity.
Edward threw himself to the side just as the missile whizzed past his ear, snapping a twig behind him with a sharp crack.
"Peeping Tom!" Margo shrieked, scrambling frantically toward the opposite bank. She hauled herself up the muddy incline and bolted into a thick wall of tall river rushes, disappearing from view, though her furious, contralto voice carried across the water. "You disgusting, low-class sneak! Spying on me! Just wait until DeMille hears about this!"
"Margo, wait!" Edward shouted, rising from the mud and brushing debris from his safari suit. "I wasn't spying! DeMille sent me to find you! I didn't know you were—look, I came to talk about your behavior, not to watch you swim!"
Before Margo could hurl another insult or another rock, the jungle around them suddenly changed.
The deafening hum of the cicadas instantly ceased, plunging the riverbank into an unnatural, suffocating silence. A heavy, musky stench—like rotting swamp water mixed with wet animal fur—rolled over the clearing on the breeze.
Edward froze, his instincts screaming a warning.
Then, from the dense undergrowth on the opposite bank, directly behind the rushes where Margo had hidden, something colossal burst into view.
It was a nightmare in material form. Standing nearly seven feet tall, the creature was vaguely humanoid, but its skin was covered in thick, overlapping scales the color of stagnant pond water. Its muscular torso heaved with savage passions, and its head was a flattened reptilian horror dominated by yellow, slit-pupiled eyes and a wide mouth filled with needle-sharp teeth.
Edward’s blood ran cold. A munmun.
During his preparation for the film, Edward immersed himself in local lore, poring over anthropological texts that the studio dismissed. They were creating an adventure film, not a horror movie. The natives of the nearby Hawaiian islands spoke of the munmun in whispers, shunning Krakan with deep, primordial dread. According to legend, the munmun was a supernatural being roused by ancient sorcery gone wrong, and it had forced the island’s entire population to flee. DeMille had laughed it off as irrational nonsense, cooked up by superstitious islanders - a boogeyman to explain things that went bump in the night.
Now, staring across the dark water at the scaly abomination, Edward realized with sickening clarity just how foolish they had been to dismiss the stories.
Before he could utter a warning shout to Margo, the creature let out a weird, ululating cry that raised the hairs on his neck as it lunged with frightening speed into the rushes where the girl was hiding.
A terrified shriek tore from Margo’s throat.
Edward saw a flash of pale limbs as the monster’s massive, clawed hand clamped around Margo’s waist, hoisting her effortlessly into the air as if she were a ragdoll. The munmun turned, crashing back into the jungle foliage, carrying her toward the interior of the island.
"Margo!" Edward shouted.
Panic threatened to paralyze him, but a deeper, harder resolve took over. He calculated the time. It would take him at least fifteen minutes to sprint back to the film site, convince a skeptical DeMille, and rally a crew armed only with prop guns that fired blanks. By the time they returned, Margo would be nothing more than a discarded pile of gnawed bones.
He was the only one who could save her. And he was an actor playing a hero, but right now there was no script to guide him.
Without any thought about the danger to himself, Edward plunged headfirst into the swift-running river. The cold water shocked his system, but he stroked hard. Cutting across the current with the power of his well-developed physique, he quickly reached the opposite bank.
Remembering the rock Margo had thrown at him, Edward dropped to one knee and rapidly stuffed his pockets with several large, heavy river stones. Satisfied with the crude weapons, he hauled himself out of the shallows and surged up the muddy bank.
The huge monster had left clear evidence of its tracks. In its wake were broken branches, torn vines, and deep claw marks in the loamy earth. Edward sprinted into the dark green labyrinth; his heart was racing, and his sharp eyes were locked on the creature’s trail.
The pursuit led upward, winding through increasingly rocky terrain until the jungle abruptly gave way to the jagged, shadowed mouth of a hillside cave.
As Edward slowed his pace, cautiously approaching the dark, gaping threshold, a piercing scream echoed from the cavern’s interior.
All caution vanished. Edward drew a deep breath and plunged into the gloom.
The cave smelled of dust and decay. Ahead, illuminated by a shaft of pale sunlight piercing a fissure in the rock above, the munmun stood over Margo. It had pinned her against the cave wall, the cruel claws of one hand clasped her breast, while the talons of the other were clamped upon her shoulder. Its slavering jaws were dangerously close to her throat as she thrashed and wept.
Edward moved swiftly. Pulling a heavy stone from his pocket, he drew back his arm and hurled it with the force of a major-league pitcher.
The stone struck the creature squarely on the side of its scaly head with a resounding crack. The munmun staggered, emitting a stunned, screeching roar, and casually batted Margo aside. She crumpled to the stone floor, gasping for air.
With blinding speed, the creature turned its fury on Edward, charging across the cavern like a runaway locomotive.
Edward didn't flinch. As the monster closed the distance, its jaws gaping horribly to reveal rows of yellow fangs, the young man lunged forward like a charging bull. He sprang upward with every ounce of his explosive athletic power. Launching himself into the air like a rocket, he drove both feet squarely into the center of the creature’s scaly chest.
The kinetic force was staggering. The monster’s momentum was arrested instantly, and it was hurled backward through the air, crashing heavily onto the stone floor of the cave. Its head struck a protruding boulder with a sickening crunch, and it lay momentarily still, dazed and incapacitated.
Edward landed lightly on the balls of his feet. Without pausing to catch his breath, he rushed to Margo’s side, dropping to his knees.
"Margo! Are you alright?”
She was trembling violently, her eyes wide with shock. Her skin was marked with angry red bruises where the creature had grabbed her, but as she looked up at him, the terror in her gaze slowly transformed into something entirely new.
"I... I think so," she gasped, her voice cracking. "You... you came to save me."
"Of course I did," Edward said softly. He quickly stripped off his river-drenched cotton shirt, handing it to her. "Here. Put this on. We need to move. Now. That thing is stunned, not dead."
Margo eagerly pulled the outsized shirt over her shoulders, the fabric swallowing her petite frame. The protective warmth of it seemed to anchor her. As Edward helped her to her feet, the aristocratic snobbery that had defined her personality for days melted away entirely, replaced by profound, glowing admiration and gratitude.
They hurriedly scrambled out of the cave, forded the river, and raced along the jungle trail with desperate haste until the familiar tents and lights of the film site finally broke through the trees.
Breathless and disheveled, they burst into the central clearing where Steven DeMille was yelling orders to the crew.
"Mr. DeMille!" Edward shouted, catching the director's attention. "Stop filming! We were attacked! There’s a creature—a monster—it took Margo, it’s real, DeMille, the legends are true!"
DeMille stared at them, his eyes darting from Margo wrapped in Edward's oversized shirt to Edward’s mud-stained torso. He let out an incredulous, nervous laugh. "What is this? Is this an improvised rehearsal? Edward, Margo, the cameras aren't rolling. What kind of sick practical joke—"
He was cut short.
A deafening, primal roar reverberated through the clearing. The crew’s heads snapped in the direction of the sound. Then the undergrowth violently parted, and the massive, green, scaly horror burst into the sunlight, slavering with wild bloodlust.
The crew, like frightened rabbits, scattered instantly, shrieking in absolute terror as tables overturned, lights crashed to the ground, and grips scrambled for safety.
The munmun locked its yellow, blazing eyes on Edward. Driven by a single-minded desire to tear apart limb from limb, the man who had struck it, the creature charged across the clearing with terrifying speed, its massive claws extended for the bloody kill.
Edward looked around wildly for something, anything that he could use to defend himself against the rushing monster. His eyes landed on a heavy production still camera, sitting atop a wooden tripod, and inspiration came swiftly to him.
As the creature closed within ten feet, Edward darted forward, grabbed the camera by its housing, and triggered the powerful flashbulb. A searing, blinding flare of harsh magnesium light erupted like a bomb directly in the monster's snarling face.
The munmun shrieked in agony, throwing its hands over its eyes and stumbling backward, completely blinded and disoriented by the explosion of actinic glare.
Seizing the opening, Edward swept his arm across a props table and grabbed a heavy machete. He lunged at the staggering beast and brought the blade down hard against its skull with a resounding thwack.
The blow landed solidly, but a sickening realization hit Edward instantly. The machete was a prop—made of dense, painted rubber meant for stage combat. It didn't crack the creature's skull; it merely bounced off like a tennis ball.
Instead of killing the beast, the strike only further enraged it.
Blinded vision rapidly clearing, the munmun’s massive limb lashed out in a wild, furious arc. Its heavy forearm caught Edward squarely in the ribs, sending him flying through the air to crash painfully into the dirt.
The creature shook its head, its vision fully returning. Foam flecked its jaws as it spotted Edward as he climbed painfully to his feet. With a savage roar, it lunged forward, raising a massive, clawed fist to crush him with a swipe that would have shattered the skull of a grizzly.
Edward looked into the brutal face of death. He knew he couldn't outrun it, and he couldn't match its brutal strength. He had only one desperate, frail chance: to use the creature's unstoppable forward momentum against it.
Peering around a tree, Margo watched in helpless horror as the frightful scene played out before her, more dramatic than any movie script could ever be. Her hand flew to her lips, and her heart seemed to skip a beat as the monster lunged. Its massive frame cast a dark shadow, like the hand of death, over her valiant rescuer.
Edward didn't retreat, didn’t flinch. He ducked swiftly beneath the swinging, grasping claws, and, in one fluid, desperate motion, thrust one arm between its muscular legs, grabbed its scaly forearm with his other hand, and leveraged his entire lower-body strength to break the munmun’s balance.
With a grunt of supreme effort, Edward threw his back and legs into it, lifting the seven-foot monster entirely off the ground, hoisting its immense weight across his shoulders and neck, and executing a devastating, textbook wheel throw.
The horror sailed through the air, crashing down into the hard-packed earth of the clearing with a bone-jarring thump.
The munmun lay motionless, stunned and winded by the violent impact. Edward took full advantage of the vicious horror’s discombobulation. He vaulted into the air and brought his heavy boots down with all his weight, delivering a brutal, crushing heel stomp directly onto the creature’s larynx.
The vicious blow would have killed any ordinary being, but the monster was far from ordinary. The thing grunted. Its clawed hand darted for Edward’s leg. He managed to leap away before the creature could seize his calf. The thing staggered upright, and Edward uttered a bitter curse. His plan had completely failed. The thing possessed an almost supernatural vitality. Then he remembered the legends and the strange circle on the surface of the temple’s platform as the horror lurched toward him.
Edward turned and fled, but it wasn’t blind panic that made him run. The munmun roared. It charged after him in swift and terrifying pursuit. The young man dashed toward the temple. He could hear the horror gaining on him. It was fleet of foot despite its monstrous size. Up the temple stairs he raced, across the platform and toward the strange circle.
The creature lunged forward with a surge of speed. Edward made a desperate leap across the carving, and the munmun ran within the circle. Instantly, a violent reaction occurred. Emerald bolts of supernatural power leapt up from the symbols and struck the creature, wreathing it in crawling serpentine discharges. The thing howled. It tried to flee, but the flashing bolts of occult power formed a cage that it could not escape. The creature burst into flames. It burned fiercely and, in a matter of seconds, was utterly consumed. Nothing was left of it; no bones, no scales, not even ash.
Silence descended upon the clearing, broken only by the heavy, ragged breathing of Edward Laurence.
**********
Several hours had passed, and the shock from the events had mostly faded. The meeting DeMille had called five minutes ago had ended with a unanimous decision to continue filming despite what had happened. Too much money, time, and effort had been invested in Tama the Untamable to stop production. DeMille had given the cast and crew the rest of the day off to help further settle their nerves, with filming recommencing tomorrow.
Edward, taking advantage of the respite, sat alone on a smooth boulder in the shade of a massive rainforest tree, contemplating the day’s fantastic and terrifying events. Footsteps crunched softly on the dirt, and Edward looked up to see Margo approaching. She was dressed in fresh clothes, her hair brushed, but her eyes carried a vulnerability he had never seen there before.
"Are you all right?" she asked softly, stopping a few feet away.
Edward offered a faint, tired smile. "I’m just thinking about the creature. Incredible as it seems, it really was the product of black magic. I think we now know what happened to the French archaeological expedition. But no one is going to believe us if we tell them. I don’t think I would have believed it either if I hadn’t witnessed everything with my own eyes."
Margo shook her head slowly, stepping closer. She reached out, her fingers gently brushing against his bruised shoulder. "It doesn’t matter what others believe or don’t believe. You saved my life," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "You saved all our lives. If you hadn't stopped it... we’d all be dead." She looked down, a deep, genuine flush of shame coloring her cheeks. "I’m sorry I treated you so terribly, Edward. You must hate me."
Edward looked up into her dark, expressive eyes. The haughty, untouchable movie star was entirely gone, replaced by a woman stripped of her arrogance.
He smiled reassuringly. "I don’t hate you. I’ve never hated you. You’re my favorite actress." He tilted his head with a gentle, disarming grin. "Why did you despise me so much anyway?"
Margo let out a soft, self-deprecating sigh as she sat next to him. "Prejudice," she confessed honestly. "I’m from a very wealthy family. My parents looked down on the working class, on anyone they deemed beneath them. I guess... I unconsciously absorbed all of their ugly attitudes. But standing out there in the jungle, watching what you did—seeing the man you really are—I see how entirely wrong I was."
She looked down at the ground for a moment, then back up, a spark of playful warmth returning to her gaze.
"You know," she continued, her voice dropping an octave, "there’s a scene in the script where Tama and Max have to share a passionate kiss."
Edward raised an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across his chiseled features. "I remember the scene. Page forty-two."
"Well," Margo whispered, moving closer until the space between them vanished entirely. "When we film that scene tomorrow ... I won’t be acting."
Edward’s heart skipped a beat, a thrill running through him that had nothing to do with adrenaline or monsters. He reached out, his hand gently cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing her skin.
"Would you like to do a little rehearsing now?" he boldly asked.
Margo smiled, her eyes shining with sudden, luminous joy. "I’d like that very much."
And in the warm, quiet shade of the Krakan jungle, they did.
The End
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