by Edward Crae
“Fuck,” he whispered.
Drew tried the door, finding it unlocked but difficult to open. The bottom of it scraped against the uneven bricks on the floor, making an uncomfortably loud noise as he forced it open. Dan gritted his teeth, shoving the torch ahead of him. The hallway beyond was the same; brick, uneven floor, and with open rooms on either side.
“You know what,” Drew said, stuffing the Glock back in his pants. “That door was loud enough. You go first, and I’ll hold the torch. If we need to kill something, it’d be better to do it with that pole. Gunshots would just attract more baddies.”
“Right,” Dan said.
He took position in front, holding the fence pole out in front of him. He wasn’t sure what good it would do; it was really long, after all. But the spade at the end of it was good enough to crack or split some skulls. Judging by the width of the hallway, however, horizontal swings would be out of the question. He would have to chop with it; downward, like an ax.
He started forward, slowly and silently coming up on the first set of rooms. They were dark inside. Drew held the torch in each one, revealing piles of junk, dust, and random scraps of wood. Nothing useful. Dan went on to the next set. These rooms were different. Inside, there were various furniture items; desks, couches, tables, and wooden chairs. The room on the left had cabinets on the back wall.
“Let’s check those cabinets,” Dan said.
Drew held the light in the room and they entered. It smelled damp, as would be expected, and there was a definite pooling of moisture at the foot of the brick wall. The cabinets were decrepit and cracked, with a few of the doors hanging crooked on their hinges.
Dan reached out to open one. A rat jumped out, startled. Dan nearly shit his pants, clapping his hand over his mouth to stifle his cry. Drew snickered behind him. Dan felt around in the cabinets, moving papers and ledgers around to look for anything that may be of use.
Nothing but a roll of duct tape. Dan grabbed it.
He opened another door; this time standing to the side to avoid a dive bombing rat. There was nothing. He turned to Drew, shrugging.
“Well,” Drew whispered. “What do you expect?”
“Fuck it,” Dan said. “We just need to get out of here. We have to find a way up.”
“Yeah, but all the windows and doors were boarded up on the outside. This isn’t a regular church, either. It must have been an office building or something at one time.”
“There’s gotta be a way to the roof,” Dan said. “I saw air conditioners up there. They had to be maintained.”
“Okay,” Drew replied, turning back to the hallway.
Dan went ahead, looking out the doorway and down the hall. He could see nothing, but heard Drew shuffling around behind him.
“Hold on,” Drew said.
He held the torch close to the floor, highlighting a small length of PVC pipe. It was two inches in diameter, and about eight inches long. “Hold the torch,” Drew said.
Dan grabbed it, and held it as Drew picked up the pipe and scraped the floor with his fingers to gather lint, scraps, and other rat’s nest material. He stuffed it all inside the pipe, and then reached into his pants to pull out his Glock.
“Give me that duct tape,” he said.
Drew stuck the pipe onto the barrel of his gun, and wrapped it in duct tape, fixing it right on the end. “Ghetto silencer,” he said with a grin. “Just gotta make sure the slide isn’t stuck in with it.”
When he had finished, Drew pointed the Glock at a nearby couch. With his jaw clenched, he fired off a shot. The sound was muffled, but still somewhat audible. “Good enough,” Drew said. “I just gotta repack it every one or two shots.”
“Cool,” Dan said. “Save it for last resorts.”
He handed the torch back to Drew and continued out the door. The end of the hallway was about twenty feet away, breaking into a staircase leading up. The top of the stairs was dark, and Dan hoped there wasn’t a locked door barring their exit.
They reached the next set of rooms. Drew shined the torch in the room on the right. More furniture. Nothing of interest. He went over to the left side, holding the torch inside. He inhaled sharply.
Crouched over the rotting corpse of a small child was another small child, munching hungrily on the dead one’s innards. Dan stared at the thing in disgust. The sound of the ripping flesh was vomit inducing, and just the thought of it made him queasy.
“Jesus,” he whispered.
The child-thing looked up. They both backed away, and Drew held out his Glock as the creature’s eyes focused on them. Its face was half gone, and the teeth were exposed, giving the child a horrifying, ghoulish appearance. Dan held out his hand, pushing the Glock down.
“I got it,” he said.
He gripped the pole tightly, inching his way into the room as the child growled and began to rise. He raised the pole over his head, stepping forward ever so slowly. The child-thing hissed, taking a step forward, getting ready to pounce. Dan brought the pole down just as the thing jumped. He heard and felt the spade split the child’s skull.
With his heart racing and struggling to jump out of his chest, he backed away, watching as the thing fell to the floor, motionless and gushing thick, black blood and brains.
“Fucking shit,” Drew said. “It’s little fucking girl.”
Drew was right. The thing wore a stained yellow sundress, with white stockings, and one ruby slipper. There was a bow in what was left of her hair. Dan felt a lump rise in his throat. He pushed past Drew and spewed onto the floor, retching and gagging as the bile trickled from out of his mouth.
“Holy fuck,” he stammered.
“You alright?” Drew asked.
Dan nodded, gasping, but said nothing. He wasn’t sure whether he was “alright” or not, but one thing was certain; things were getting stranger and stranger—not to mention more disturbing. He had split the skull of a once vibrant and happy child; one that had likely spent the last few months or so of her life crawling around in the darkness, ripping rotting flesh from corpses that were thrown into the cellar.
As Dan continued to contemplate the sickening situation, a low cacophony of hisses erupted from down the hall. It was a distant sound, and collective, as if a whole host of creatures had been alerted to their presence.
“Shit,” Drew said, pulling the Glock from his pants.
Dan stood, gripping the fence post and following Drew as he backed out of the room. They peered down the dark hallway, fully expecting a staggering horde of little mutants to come out of the shadows. They stood in terror, listening as the hissing grew closer, and the scraping and shuffling sounds of feet on the dusty floor joined it.
“Put that Glock away,” Dan said. “Save the bullets for the big shit.”
Drew nodded, stuffing the gun back into his pants. He held the torch close to the floor, looking for something else that he could use. Dan stepped forward, holding the post tightly, waiting for the inevitable. Behind him, he heard the metallic clank of something being picked up off the floor. Drew had found a short length of rebar. It was better than nothing.
Ahead, the shuffling and moaning grew louder. Drew held the torch forward, brightening the shadows somewhat. But it was still too dim to see anything. Then, out of nowhere, the sound of charging feet burst from down the hallway. Gurgling and growling sounds followed. Dan’s heart thumped wildly, but steadily.
“Back up,” he hissed, pushing Drew back through the metal door.
Finally, out of the shadows, the horde of tiny, hungry, and horrifying creatures appeared. There were at least a dozen of them, children and toddlers, all twisted, rotted, and baring their crooked teeth. Their eyes were red and deep, and their skin was flaked and greenish with decay.
“Jesus Christ!” Drew shouted.
Dan followed him through the door and joined him in putting his weight against it. It ground against the floor as it closed, and they both gritted their teeth with the effort. Several bodies impacted
the metal, pushing it farther open. Dan and Drew struggled to keep it closed, putting all of their weight against it. Behind it, the sounds of a dozen angry dead echoed like a hellish symphony.
Drew backed away, dropping the torch and holding the rebar like a spear. With angry shouts, he plunged the rebar through the gap, stabbing at the child-things. Blood splattered with each thrust, and Dan still pushed with all his might, straining against the weight of the dead children behind it.
“Fuck you!” Drew shouted with each deadly stab.
The sickening sound of cracking bone and split flesh, coupled with the glopping of thick blood on the floor, ground at Dan’s senses. He could feel the revulsion; the lump rising in his throat. But still, Drew kept going. Dan planted his foot at the base of the door just as his strength gave out, and the door slid open a few inches.
“Shit!” he cursed.
Bodies began to push through; their tiny little limbs and faces poking into the gap. Drew backed away, still holding the rebar like a spear. Dan gripped his fence post, rearing it over his head for a swing.
“Do it!” Drew shouted.
Dan brought the post down with all his might, splitting a skull. Blood and brains splashed everywhere, and the rotted body fell to the floor. He reared up again, watching as Drew thrust his rebar into the face of another. He chopped once more, severing the arm of a larger child just at the shoulder. The creature turned to him and snarled, clawing its way at him. Drew finished it off with a thrust to the side of the head.
Dan’s foot was straining against the door. There were just too many bodies pushing against it to hold any longer. Pushing Drew back, he jumped away, raising the post over his head to defend against the onslaught.
“Jesus man,” Drew said, just as a half dozen bodies piled into the hallway.
The child-things stumbled over each other to get at them, growling and hissing in hunger, their red eyes focused and determined to feed. Dan charged, wildly swinging his weapon from side to side, his adrenaline pumping and his teeth clenched in anger. He felt the spade chop through flesh and bone, and saw the shadowy walls splattered with foul blood and guts.
Drew picked up the torch behind him, pushing it through so Dan could see. The light shined off of the child-thing’s faces, accentuating their ghoulish appearance. Dan growled with rage, focusing on each and every skull that he smashed. He pounded the pathetic things into the brick floor, stomping their writhing bodies as they came at him.
Soon, the horde was finished, and Dan stood breathless, dropping his weapon and bending down to rest his hands on his knees.
“Fuck, dude,” Drew said, clapping him on the back. “That was some crazy shit.”
Dan cackled; his voice cracked with a touch of crazy. “Fuck those things,” he growled.
Drew grabbed his arm tightly. Dan glanced at him in question, seeing him staring off into the shadows. He looked up, not seeing anything, but hearing a low hiss echoing through the door from the dark hallway beyond. He gripped his fence post with trembling hands, feeling his heartbeat quicken in fear. Drew let go of him, reaching for his Glock, pointing it in front of him.
“What the fuck is that?” Dan whispered. Drew shook his head.
They both took a step forward, cautiously moving in the darkness, leaving the torch behind as it fizzled out. Down the hallway, the hiss grew in intensity, and was followed by the sound of scratching and scuffling. Drew raised the Glock, his face frozen in terror and his hands trembling.
Then, a spindly set of fingers curled under the top of the door jamb, digging sharp claws into the dusty stone. Another hand appeared beside it, and the two men stopped; waiting for whatever would follow. A mutated face appeared between the clawed hands; upside-down and twisted into a horrific, feral scowl. It’s large maw opened, revealing long, transparent fangs, and issuing a low, vicious hiss.
“Fuck,” Drew whispered.
The thing suddenly shot forward, racing along the ceiling with incredible speed. Dan raised the fence post, ready to chop the thing from its hanging position. Drew fired. The muffled sound of the pistol startled Dan, but he swung anyway, catching a writhing tentacle as the thing passed overhead.
He spun quickly as the creature passed behind them. It leaped from the ceiling, clasping onto the wall and growling at them as they readied themselves again.
“What the fuck?” Dan hissed.
Drew levelled the Glock and fired again, catching the creature in the collar as it charged. It screeched in pain, leaping to the other wall. Dan swung the fence post, chopping off one of its tentacles. The severed appendage fell to the floor, writhing and squirming with a life of its own. Drew stomped it, splatting it onto the stone.
The creature leaped again, this time right at Dan. He jumped to the side, swinging as he spun around, feeling the impact of the spade on the creature’s flank. It screeched and howled as it stumbled onto the floor, rolling onto its four clawed feet and charging once more. Dan pushed Drew into the wall, standing in front of him and thrusting the fence post forward with everything he had. He caught the creature in the maw, pushing it back, leaning forward to gain the upper hand.
The creature’s tentacles flailed wildly, and it growled and roared in frustration.
“Now!” Dan shouted.
Drew levelled the gun at the creature’s head as Dan struggled with it. “Do it!” Dan shouted again.
Drew fired. The creature’s head exploded back, spraying black blood and brains onto the wall behind it. Dan withdrew the post, raising it above his head to deliver one final, devastating chop, splitting the foul head in two down to the sternum.
He dropped the fence post to the floor, staggering back, breathless.
“Damn,” Drew said, stepping forward and nudging the strange remains with his foot. “What the fuck is this? It looks like a little stalker.”
Dan nodded. Drew was right. It was a stalker, alright; one that was created from a child. That must have been one fucked up kid.
“Some kids are crazier than others,” he said. “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”
Chapter Four
After roaming the halls once again, and finding a tiny cocoon in one of the side rooms, the two of them ended up at the top of a set of wooden stairs. Below the risers were at least a dozen rotting, half-eaten corpses. They were of various sizes; adults and children alike. Whatever had happened at this church, they didn’t want to know.
The door they faced was wooden, degraded, and dry-rotted. Even so, the lock was secure on the other side. There was no picking it, or bashing it. They would have to find another way through. Fortunately, the wooden planks that made up the door itself were in no condition to withstand the intentions of a couple of sociopaths.
Dan turned to the side, feeling for weak spots in the planks. With a grunt, he shouldered against it as hard as he could, hearing the wood splinter with his weight. He grinned.
“Help me bash this fucker down,” he said.
Drew stepped up, standing beside him. On the count of three, they bashed together. The door cracked under their weight, and buckled in the center.
“Again,” Dan said.
They bashed it again, this time splitting one of the boards down the middle.
“It’s working,” Drew said. “Keep going.”
They bashed again, and this time Drew fell halfway through. “Sonofabitch,” he whispered with a painful strain. He pushed his way back through, grasping his side and gritting his teeth. “That fuckin’ hurt.”
“You alright?”
Drew nodded, kicking at the two cracked boards around the hole he had just made. Dan helped, and a minute later, they had a nice-sized opening. Dan crawled through first, looking around at the darkened hallway. Ahead, he could see the chapel. It was lit by the moonlight that shined through the gaps in the boarded windows. The stained glass that was on the inside cast weird, creepy-colored beams, accentuated by the thick dust that hung in the air.
“It smells like shit,” he s
aid as he helped Drew through.
Drew sniffed, scowling. “Shit and… pancakes.”
Dan scowled for a second, shook his head, and continued forward. There were open doors on either side of the short hallway; one each. The rooms were typical office space, decorated with desks, fake plants, and inspirational photos—including Footprints in the Sand. Thankfully, there were no signs of life, or unlife.
The chapel itself was lined with sixteen pews, eight to a side. A podium stood at the head, with a large cross hanging on the wall behind it. There, kneeling in front of the cross, was a shadowy figure, emaciated and filthy; dressed in rags and clutching a tattered Bible. Dan and Drew approached from either side, each of them gripping their weapons in preparation. The figure was still, other than the subtle movement of breathing.
He seemed to be mumbling to himself.
“Hello?” Dan said softly.
The figure raised its head, turning in his direction. It was a man, sickly and haunted. He was gaunt and pale, looking almost like a corpse himself. He was unshaven and disheveled. His hair—what was left of it—was short and graying. His dark eyes studied Dan for a moment, then he lowered his head toward the floor. Dan could hear him weeping.
“Welcome,” the man said in an uncharacteristically deep voice. “I trust you have met the children.”
Dan shot Drew a look, nodding quietly. “We did,” he said. “Are you the pastor?”
The man stood, and Dan could clearly see his clothing. He wore jeans, and a black shirt with a priestly collar. “I am,” he said. “Or… I was, before this happened.”
Dan leaned his weapon against the nearby table, urging Drew to do the same thing.
“Who are the people here in this town?” Dan asked. “And why are you here in this church?”
“This is my church,” the pastor said. “And those people are… or were… my flock.”
“They threw us in the cellar,” Dan said. “Probably with the assumption that we would be eaten alive.”
