The Butcher's Husband and Other Stories

by Amy Cross

  “Run!” I bark at Larry. “Come on! Move!”

  We race out across the grass. I'm still holding his lead, and I can barely keep up with him as we run toward the road. I don't even know what we're going to do once we get away, but I guess I'll call the police and tell them everything. This time, they'll have to come and investigate the building, there's no way they can -

  Suddenly something huge and heavy slams into me from the side, hitting me with such force that I'm thrown off my feet and sent flying through the air. I cry out as I fall down and hit the ground, and again as I let go of Larry's lead and roll violently across the grass. Finally I come to a stop, and I start sitting up just as something hits me in the small of my back and starts wrapping itself around my waist.

  Looking down, I'm horrified to see the thick, tendril-like root from the bog.

  “Larry!” I bark, turning and seeing that Larry is picking himself up from the spot where he landed nearby “I -”

  Before I can finish, I'm yanked backward and dragged roughly across the grass. For a moment, I completely lose track of where I am. At first I assume I'm being pulled back toward the building, but then I realize that I'm actually being taken to the road. I reach down and try desperately to free myself from the root's tight grip, but at that moment I hit the road and I'm pulled straight across the asphalt. My legs and arms are ripped by the rough surface, and then a few seconds later I'm flung up into the air before I'm sent crashing down into the foul-smelling bog.

  “Paula!” Larry barks in the distance. “Wait, I'm -”

  I don't hear the rest. Instead, I slam into the water. Instantly submerged, I cough and splutter, but in the process I merely succeed in inhaling some of the disgusting mud. I twist around and try to find some air, and finally I'm able to lift my face above the surface. I somehow manage to open my eyes, just in time to see that the root is dragging me fast toward the concrete pipe. I scream as I hit the edge, and then again as I'm pulled at speed through the pipe and out the other end.

  “Paula!”

  Larry's still barking in the distance, but all I can do is cry out as I emerge from the other side of the pipe. I'm being dragged fast across the grass now. Ahead, Larry runs toward me, but he's too slow and I'm rushed toward the building. Ahead, the root has already begun to burst out from the building's side, and a moment later I'm hoisted up into the air. I turn round and brace myself, just as I'm slammed into the wall, and then the root starts dragging me up toward the top of the block of flats. I bounce several times against the concrete wall, and for a moment I can just about make out the sight of Larry barking furiously down below, yelling my name.

  Suddenly I reach the top of the building and I turn, just as the root pulls me toward an open window. Realizing that the window is only open slightly, I scream and cover my face with my hands, and in that moment I crash into the window. The frame breaks, the glass shatters, and everything goes black as I'm dragged crashing into flat 5a.

  Part Eight

  MR. SEYMOUR

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I land with a heavy jolt, and my eyes spring open just as I feel the root loosening its grip on my waist.

  Wincing with pain, I find that I'm flat on my face on the carpet. I reach out to haul myself up, but as I do so I put my right hand straight onto a sharp piece of glass. I cry out and pull away, but the glass is embedded in the palm of my hand and after a moment I accidentally sit on another piece. I try to scramble away, and finally I bump against the wall. I immediately pull the glass out of my hand, and then I realize that the air all around me is absolutely thick with floating spores.

  “What the...”

  Feeling desperately dizzy, I take a moment to get my head straight, and then I turn to see the tip of the root flicking against the carpet, almost as if it's waiting for instructions.

  And then I see him.

  I scream as soon as I spot the old man sitting in an armchair at the far end of the room. It's hard to see much, thanks to the thick cloud of spores that's hanging in the air, but I blink a few times and finally I'm just about able to make out the sight of an old, frail-looking man with his hands on the chair's armrests.

  He's staring straight at me.

  I wait, but he says nothing. I can hear a rustling sound, however, and I realize after a moment that this must be coming from all the spores that are constantly drifting around and hitting the walls and furniture. This room, right at the top of the building, is so much worse than any of the other flats.

  “You'll forgive me for not getting up,” Mr. Seymour says finally, his voice thick and slightly muffled. “These days, I try to move around as little as possible. I'm sure you'll understand.”

  Staring at him, I'm convinced that none of this can really be happening.

  I try to get up, but then I cry out as I feel sharp pains in my legs and chest. I manage to get onto my elbows and knees, but even that effort is immense. I don't know exactly what injuries I suffered when I was dragged up here, but I'm pretty sure that sheer adrenaline is masking the agony from several broken bones. When I look down at my hands, I see that they're dotted all over with slivers of glass and wood.

  “Then again,” Mr. Seymour continues, “one mustn't lose one's manners, must one?”

  I look over at him just as he starts rising slowly from his chair. His entire body creaks, and I see to my horror that his skin is mottled somehow, as if he's covered in a blanket of mold that has attached itself to his flesh all over.

  “A few days have passed since I last rose from the seat,” he groans. “This old body is getting so tired.”

  “What are you doing up here?” I gasp, struggling to speak due to all the spores in the air. “I don't -”

  Before I can finish, I start coughing violently. This time there's a sharp pain in my gut, and after a few seconds I slump face-first against the carpet and then I roll onto my back as I continue to try to clear my throat. After a moment, I realize that Mr. Seymour is laughing.

  “You're the last one in this building,” he chuckles. “I should have known that you'd be the most difficult. A few fled, the rest I claimed. Once I have fed on you, I shall have to move on and find a new home. That prospect is both exciting and rather daunting.”

  Suddenly he steps into view, looming over me, and for the first time I'm able to see his face properly. He's not just moldy; he's absolutely covered in the stuff, from head to toe.

  “What's wrong?” he asks with a grin. “Are you disgusted by me? Do you think that I'm beneath you? That I'm barely even worthy of being stepped on?”

  I'm too shocked and horrified to know how to respond.

  “That's what you all did. Before, I mean.” He tilts his head. “When I was out there in the forest, and people used to come out there. No-one ever noticed the mold on the ground. The spores. The small ones. It was so lonely, especially when people would come out to walk their dogs between the trees. How I longed for companionship, but people didn't even notice me.”

  He starts kneeling next to my head. As he does so, his body creaks once more.

  “Tell me,” he continues, “why do humans have pets? Why do you allow dogs and cats into your homes, yet you desperately try to keep the likes of me out?”

  “I don't know what you're talking about,” I stammer.

  “Are we not alive?” he continues, as a few spores drop from his face. Several more drift against him and stick in their place. “Are we not deserving of the generosity that you show to other species? Why can't we also be your pets?”

  “I don't know what you mean,” I say again, with tears in my eyes. “Please, none of this makes sense, I want -”

  “Of course it doesn't!” he snaps angrily. “Because you look at us and you see dirt. You see grime. You see things that are unwanted!”

  With that, he places a moldy hand against my face and presses hard. I turn my head to get away, horrified by the sensation of so much dirt touching my nose and mouth, but he only presses even harder. I tr
y to breathe, but I can feel chunks of mold rushing into my mouth and nose. Finally, just when I think I'm about to suffocate, he moves his hand away.

  “We're a form of life too,” he sneers. “Just because we're not cute, just because we don't have a heart-beat, that doesn't mean we're not alive in our own way. But you don't understand us, do you? Even now, as you look at me, you can't get it through your thick head. You see me, us, as one being, when in reality there are millions of us stuck all over this old man's body.”

  He leans closer, and I open my eyes wide with shock as I see all the spores that are covering him. They're even in his unblinking eyes.

  “I saw so many happy people out there with their dogs,” he continues. “Why can't we be pets?”

  “Because you're -”

  “We're filth!” he snaps, interrupting me. “I know! We're dirt, we're just something to be stepped on! And when you're deciding what's pretty and what's not in your world, we're just something to be wiped away and eradicated!”

  As he speaks, more spores spill from his mouth and land against my face.

  “We're not taking it anymore,” he continues. “I don't know how we became sentient, and I don't care. But now that we are, we demand to be seen as more than dirt! We demand to be -”

  Suddenly there's a loud banging sound, and we both turn and look toward the hallway.

  “Paula!” Larry barks from the other side of the flat's front door. He sounds seriously out of breath. “Are you in there?”

  “Larry!” I bark back at him. “Run!”

  “Never!”

  He slams into the door again, and then after a moment there's silence.

  “He'll never get through there,” Mr. Seymour sneers. “That door is pure -”

  Before he can finish, there's a crashing sound and Larry comes thundering straight through the wall, which explodes in a shower of plaster and wood and mold.

  Barking furiously, Larry rushes at Mr. Seymour and leaps toward his face, snarling loudly.

  Just as I'm about to cry out, however, the huge root snaps through the air and hits Larry, wrapping around him and pulling him away. I hear a squeal of pain, and then I turn just in time to see the root let go of Larry and fling him out through the shattered window.

  “No!” I scream, struggling to sit up as I see Larry fling through the air. “Larry!”

  “Paula!” he yells as he falls from sight. “Get out of there! Don't be -”

  Suddenly he falls silent, and I stare in horror at the window. We're up on the fifth floor, and there's no way anyone could survive plummeting all the way down to the grass from here.

  “Larry,” I whisper, with tears in my eyes. “No...”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “Don't be sad,” Mr. Seymour says, placing his hands on my shoulders from behind and leaning closer until he's whispering into my right ear. “I'll be your cute little pet, if you like.”

  “You killed him!” I gasp, still staring at the window and seeing only a gray sky beyond the broken glass. “You didn't have to do that!”

  “Forget about the dog,” Mr. Seymour purrs. “You need to broaden your horizons a little.”

  “He didn't do anything wrong,” I whimper, as tears run down my face. “He was only trying to save me.”

  “You've got me now,” he continues. “You've got us now.”

  Slowly, he presses a hand against the side of my face, wiping spores across my cheek.

  “No,” I whisper, before feeling a sudden sense of rage rising through my body. “Never!”

  I throw myself backward, slamming him into the wall, and then I lunge forward and turn. I see Mr. Seymour coming for me, so I kick him, and to my astonishment I knock his entire left arm clean off his body. All that's left is the stump, with a section of bone poking out.

  “Oh, that's not very pretty, is it?” he says, looking at what's left of his arm. “I knew the original Mr. Seymour must have begun to rot away underneath. I remember the day when I felt his heart finally stop. I think he even tried to scream, under all of us, but of course he was no longer in control of his own body. Poor Mr. Seymour, he used to sit all alone in this flat, day after day and night after night. He was the only one in this building who didn't keep cleaning us away as we gathered. Finally, we overcame him.”

  “You're not real,” I stammer, backing away slowly despite the pain that's ringing throughout my entire body. “You can't be real!”

  “And why's that?” he asks. “Because I don't fit into your world?”

  Behind him, the thick root is slowly creeping across the floor, as if it's trying to sneak around and come toward me.

  “I still needed a connection to the forest,” Mr. Seymour – or whatever he is now – continues. “Fortunately, nature can be infinitely adaptable. It's amazing how quickly things can grow in the right conditions. And this flat, with its always-sealed windows and its complete lack of cleaning, proved to be perfect for all of us. The old man barely even noticed us at first, as we began to cling to him in that chair. By the time he did notice, it was too late.”

  Shaking my head, I look around as I try to figure out how I'm going to get out of here.

  “It won't work,” Mr. Seymour says firmly. “You're mine now. Or rather, you belong to us. We need another body, anyway. As you can see, this one is getting so very fragile.”

  “No!” I yell, as the root suddenly swings at me.

  I duck and run, and the root tries to follow me. As it does so, however, I manage to grab its tip and push it back, and I watch in horror as its trunk slams into Mr. Seymour and presses him against the wall. A moment later, the root falls away, and I see that one side of Mr. Seymour's chest has crumbled to nothing, exposing the rotten ribs beneath.

  “See what I mean?” Mr. Seymour continues, reaching down and touching his broken side. “Definitely time for a change. How about you embrace that with me, instead of all this futile resistance?”

  With that, he screams and lunges at me.

  I try to pull out of the way, but he grabs me by the shoulders and slams me into the wall.

  “You'll be like us!” he snarls, as I struggle desperately to get free. “It's perfect, really! You were lonely, we were lonely, but together no-one ever has to be lonely again!”

  Gasping, I reach up and put a hand on the side of his face. I try to dig my nails into his cheek, hoping to scratch him and force him to pull away. Instead, however, my nails slice into the spore-covered flesh, until suddenly my fingers break through and I feel the tips scratching against the draw jawbone beneath. A moment later, the whole side of his face comes away, revealing part of the bloodless skull beneath.

  “Such a shame,” he snarls. “He just rotted away inside us.”

  With that, he slams a hand across my mouth. I try to pull away, but in my panic I breathe deep, and I feel spores rushing up my nose and into my mouth. I start struggling, and after a moment I manage to push him away, but as I fall forward I can feel more and more spores filling my body. I start coughing wildly as I stumble across the room, and after a moment I have to stop and bend over as I try to clear my throat.

  “You still don't understand, do you?” Mr. Seymour sneers behind me, and I hear him coming closer. “You still don't understand how we work.”

  Reaching out, I grab a wooden chair that's next to the dining table.

  “You might not like us now,” he gurgles, as I hear the floorboard creaking behind my back, “but trust me... We'll grow on you!”

  “No!” I yell, turning and swinging the chair at him.

  To my shock, the chair's legs crash straight through his chest, knocking away not only the spores that are clinging to his body but also the bones. Startled, I drop the chair and step back, just as Mr. Seymour's top half topples down and falls.

  “You really don't -”

  Before he can finish, his head hits the ground and smashes. A cloud of spores rushes up into the air, and I take another step back as I finally spot the remains of the ol
d man's smashed skull.

  A moment later, the legs and waist topple over.

  Too shocked to know what to do or say, I stare for a few seconds at what's left of Mr. Seymour. The spores must have completely encased him, using him as a kind of vehicle.

  “Paula!” a voice shouts suddenly. “Help!”

  Looking around, I realize that I can hear Larry. I rush to the broken window and lean out, and I finally see that he's clinging to the side of the building, hanging by his paws from a pipe that runs under the sill.

  “Larry!” I gasp, reaching down and grabbing him.

  As I start pulling him up, I see that his lead caught on a pipe when he fell. After that, he must have crawled his way slowly up the side of the block.

  “I thought you were dead!” I gasp as I finally lift him back into the room. There are tears in my eyes, and after a moment I pull him close for a hug. “I'm never going to let you go again!”

  “That's nice,” he replies, “but you're squashing me!”

  “Sorry!” I hold him up again, and I swear I've never felt happier.

  “What happened in here?” he asks, looking around. “Where's Mr. Seymour?”

  “He kind of fell apart,” I reply, and then we both look toward the tip of the root as it rests against the floor. “As for that thing,” I continue, “I guess maybe there's no-one controlling it right now.” I pause, before turning and heading to the door. “Come on, we have to get out of here, Larry. We have to call the police.”

  I pull the door open and step out into the hallway, only to slam straight into a figure that's waiting on the other side.

  “As I said,” Justin tells me, grinning with spores covering his face. “We'll grow on you!”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Suddenly Justin pushes me back into the room and steps through the doorway. He slams the door shut behind himself, and then he looks me up and down.