by Greg Chapman
Netherkind
By
Greg Chapman
Omnium Gatherum
Los Angeles
Netherkind
Copyright © 2019 Greg Chapman
ISBN-13: 9781949054118
ISBN-10: 194905411X
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author and publisher omniumgatherumedia.com.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
First Electronic Edition
“The mind is the result of the
torments the flesh undergoes
or inflicts upon itself.”
—Emile M. Cioran
Part One: Creatures of Habit
1
Thomas watched the violet caress of dusk bleed into the shadows of the city, his eyes reimagining buildings as headstones and the parade of people as a feast to be had.
The urge stabbed at his gut, a simultaneous twinge of hunger and revulsion. It was an infection that resurfaced each night and it had been this way as long as he could remember.
Thomas stood on the ledge and peered down on the citizens weaving their way past hot dog carts, newsstands and vagrants. He hated the sight of them, yet he needed them inside him. The urge demanded he devour them all; it was a craving so powerful it corrupted him body and soul.
His arm burned in pain and Thomas saw a few spots had already begun to ooze into the fabric. He pulled back the sleeve of his shirt to see that the rot was surfacing, the skin of his forearm becoming loose and weeping. The same putrefaction was beneath the cuff of his tan pants. The tell-tale sign of the metamorphosis to come. He had no choice but to venture into the city and feed.
There was, however, another choice. Thomas inched his feet closer to the edge. The roof was twenty storeys above the herd and the pavement looked so enticing. He imagined himself soaring down, the cushion of air cradling him, gentle against his stinging body, until…
No.
He wrestled himself away from the thoughts and stepped off the ledge to safer ground. Tears prickled at his cheeks and when he touched them, flecks of skin came away on his fingertips. He closed his eyes and took long, cool breaths. He was more than a monster. The eternal struggle against the urge would not define him and neither would the prey on the street. On the outside, he looked just like them, with his brown hair and blue eyes. It was the carnivorous nature of his soul that betrayed him, and he would have given anything to be free of it.
At least not until he understood it—and why it made him the way he was.
The urge though, for now, was in control.
Thomas walked back to the roof exit door, head low in defeat. The hinges sang their familiar song and he trudged down the staircase. The complex had been his home—no, his lair—for as long as he could remember. The décor had not changed since the building’s construction in the 198o’s, yet many souls had walked its halls, and resided in its rooms. Thomas exited onto the seventh floor and was on his room to his apartment when a newcomer caught his eye. The urge stirred within.
The woman juggled a stack of moving boxes in one arm and a set of keys in the other as she tried to open the door to 714. Thomas watched her struggle, enamoured by her height, long dark hair, and the way her lithe form fit perfectly in the simple t-shirt and jeans ensemble. Instinctively, he licked his lips and tried his best to ignore her. He was walking past her when the boxes toppled to the floor with the crunch of possibly fragile items jangling around inside.
“Shit!” the woman said, turning to find Thomas bending to help recover the boxes. “Oh, hi…” she added.
He was mute, conscious of her gaze and stunned by her beauty. He swallowed back the urge and cleared his throat.
“Hi…” he said. “You need some help?”
She crouched beside him and Thomas tried not to glance at her skin. It was flawless, without a blemish. He realized his own was anything but and averted his gaze. He picked up two of the boxes and stood.
“Thanks,” she said. “I probably should have grabbed a trolley.” She turned and unlocked the door to 714. She then scooped up the remaining boxes from the floor. “Would you mind taking them inside?”
Thomas nodded and stepped into the apartment. The layouts of all the apartments were the same, with a short hallway, turning off into a kitchen and then the living room. Beige carpet and walls gave everything a sense of simplicity, which Thomas liked, given his inclinations.
“Just pop them on the table,” she said. “Hopefully nothing’s broken.”
Thomas placed the boxes and turned, quick to make his escape.
“Thanks so much for your help. I’ll definitely grab a trolley for the rest of the boxes,” she said, before reaching out her hand. “My name’s Stephanie. I’m new to the building…obviously.”
He tucked at his collar and sleeves, conscious of his reddening flesh, yet she was unfazed. He shook her hand briefly.
“Thomas,” he said. “I live down the hall in 710.”
Her smile only accentuated her attractiveness. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, neighbour.”
Why the hell did she have to move in here?
Thomas made to leave. “Well, I’d better get going…”
Stephanie frowned, disappointment evident on her face. “Oh, sure. Of course,” she said. “Maybe, if you’re not busy, you could come by later for a house-warming coffee? So I can say thank you. You’re actually the first person I’ve met in the building—well, apart from the super. Truth be told, I don’t know anyone and I’m still settling in to a new city. I just started work as a nurse at Our Lady of Hope Hospital.”
Thomas smiled thinly and began to walk away. “Maybe,” he said, before heading for the door. She followed him and he could feel her closeness, smell her skin.
“Great! Well, I know where to find you,” she said with a nervous chuckle. “Thanks again for your help.”
Thomas couldn’t get inside his apartment fast enough. The urge was a hot iron under his skin; it wanted Stephanie inside him, and he wanted to be inside her.
He threw his keys on the hallstand and staggered into the bathroom, as the burning sank deeper into his gut. He ripped off his shirt to reveal a torso flecked with scarlet. The sight made him retch into the toilet. He had to feed, lest his body break apart. Gasping, he flushed the foulness away, took off the rest of his clothes and climbed into the shower.
Under the harsh spray of water, Thomas proceeded to claw at his chest and arms and legs, the outer layer of viscera sloughing to floor in fist-sized chunks. The pieces clogged the drain, but Thomas sighed with relief. The pressure of the water began to soothe his red raw body. He stood in the shower for many minutes, until the pain—and the urge—subsided.
He dried off and when his new skin was no longer sticky, dressed in a new cornflower blue shirt and tan pants. He avoided looking in the mirror as he dressed, not out of shame, but anger. Instead, he resigned himself to the task of cleaning up his old flesh in the shower. Most of the fragments had dissolved in the water, but remnants often clogged the plughole. He placed it in a black trash bag, along with his clothes and towel. During this ritual, his mind drifted to the woman he’d just met, but the urge returned, quenching his thoughts. Replacing them with a desire he’d known all his inexplicable life:
Hunger.
Thomas tried to forget Stephanie and get back to his routine. When he was satisfied, he’d disinfected the bathroom, he gathered
the trash bag and carried it down the fire escape to the dumpster in the alleyway. A rain shower had given everything in the alley a silver glow and washed away the grime and filth. Thomas smiled at the sight and took a moment to watch the rivulets of water trickling between the cracks in the ground. He breathed deeply and, when he studied his hands, saw that the redness was starting to fade. He knew it would return—the de-fleshing was only a temporary measure—so time was of the essence, so he had to leave the moment of serenity behind and venture out of the alley into the prey-filled streets.
The heady aroma of petrichor was thick in the air as he walked among them. People revelling in the revitalising nature of the rain. Traffic seemed to glide down the street, the sound of tyres splashing through puddles, a pleasing chorus to Thomas’ ears. He saw couples holding hands, smiling and happy in the moment. He had the same thoughts and feelings, yet he was nothing like them at all. The fact tore at his resolve to be one of them, rather hunt them. They had no inkling that a predator was in their midst.
He followed the procession of people for ten blocks until he reached the subway. Human conversations mingled with scratchy speaker announcements of impending train arrivals. Some travellers stared at their cell phones in blissful ignorance, while others were lost, looking at nothing at all. Thomas was driven by a singular purpose, yet these people—these potential victims—were wasting their lives. What he would do if he were in their shoes.
On the platform, a young couple passed the time waiting for the train by canoodling. Even though he always kept his distance, the young woman’s floral perfume was all-pervading, soaring above the stench of engine oil and stale cigarette butts. The urge sent a shiver of heat through him and his shoulders sagged with regret.
At five minutes to 8 pm, the 1-8-2 train arrived. Thomas found a seat in the last car and watched the blur of the city lights. Passengers embarked and disembarked. The hours bled into one another, drunken revellers stared and chuckled in Thomas’ direction, making fun of his appearance, but he ignored them. They weren’t worth wasting energy on.
The city lights faded as the train rambled beyond the outskirts of the city. The darkness deepened, within and without and at 3 am Thomas found himself alone. The urge pulsed in time with his heartbeat. It knew this was his prime hunting hour, when shift workers made the journey home. He knew it wouldn’t be long before someone came along, and patience was his strongest virtue.
At Brumpton station, a tall, lean man, in his late thirties and dressed in blue hospital scrubs and black leather jacket, boarded. Thomas shifted in his seat, the urge beating a drum in his entire body. The palpitations released a corresponding wetness in his mouth. He would have rushed the stranger, but despite the urge’s insistence, Thomas was always cautious. He was determined never to simply give in. As Thomas watched the man find a seat several rows up, Stephanie suddenly came to mind. She worked in a hospital, didn’t she? He pushed the thought aside and stood to walk over to the man and get a closer look at him. He didn’t realise he was staring until the man turned to gaze back.
“Can I help you?” the man said, trying to conceal his nervousness and repugnance.
Thomas saw the badge on the man’s shirt, Dr John Birmingham, Our Lady of Hope Hospital, where Stephanie worked. Hesitation played at the edges of his mind. Should he kill someone who could be linked back to his new neighbour? The urge broiled inside him and he could almost sense it speaking through his veins. It was too late to change his mind and Thomas had to keep to his routine. He must feed.
Thomas reached out for Birmingham with eager hands. The man cried out and jerked away in shock, getting to his feet. He moved towards the doors to the next car, desperate to keep distance between them. Thomas, however, fuelled by the urge, was much faster and snatched the doctor’s hand. A wave of heat passed between them and the good Dr Birmingham fell to his knees, screaming. Thomas stared in awe at the doctor’s terrified eyes, the urge savouring every second of his fear. Thomas clamped his other hand over Birmingham’s mouth, not only to stifle his screams, but also to finally feast. The doctor’s lips and cheeks drooped like warm putty beneath Thomas’ palm. Thomas’ skin, raw and open, soaked up the doctor’s melting flesh. Within moments, as the sound of the train’s wheels clattering on the tracks danced around Thomas’ ears, the man became a milky concoction. Thomas dropped into the bloody murk and greedily slurped it off the floor of the carriage. His mouth was a vacuum, sucking up every morsel of digested blood and bone. The larger pieces he chewed and gulped down; the feeling of it sliding down his throat was pure ecstasy to the urge.
The feeding was almost trance-like, with Thomas at its mercy. He shivered as he gorged himself, the act a whole-of-body-experience that had an immediate effect on his own skin. Waves of energy radiated over his body until the redness retreated and the fissures closed. He was literally becoming a new man. When he was done, all that remained of Dr Birmingham was a pile of sodden clothes and a blood-spattered nametag.
Hunger sated, Thomas moved to the closest seat, and sighed with relief. Birmingham was inside him, altering his every cell. He arched his head back and stared at the ceiling, letting the jostle of the train merge with the fullness in his stomach.
The satisfaction didn’t last long. When the urge was comfortable, Thomas started examining himself, externally and internally. His new suit was perfect; the hands unblemished, the face smooth to the touch. To the casual eye, he would pass as human.
Yet another human had to die in order for Thomas to have some semblance of normality. The fleeting hope of a monster. He watched the first light of dawn through tears. His hunting ground city was coming to life, but despite the new form growing in his blood, he felt dead inside.
The tears came because he knew that, in time, those hands would crease and crack, the face, split and burn.
Then the monster would rise again.
Incessant knocking on Thomas’ front door fractured his sleep. Thomas’s alarm clock said 10 am—and he’d only just fallen asleep. He tried to ignore the knock, but when he saw Stephanie through the peephole his heart almost skipped a beat in trepidation.
“Stephanie?” Thomas said as he opened the door.
“Hi,” she said with that cheery smile. Then she frowned. “Oh, sorry, did I wake you?’
“Uh, no…it’s okay. I need to get up anyway,” Thomas lied.
Stephanie produced a five-dollar bill from her coat pocket. “Look, I’m sorry, but I need to do some laundry, but I don’t have any change for the machine. Do you—?”
Thomas scratched at his hair, realized he was showing his bare flesh and quickly covered his chest with his robe. It felt so strange to be interacting with a person in such a—normal—way. Eventually he nodded.
“Uh, yeah, just wait here okay?”
Thomas closed the door and sighed nervously. Why did she have to keep bothering me? He went to his bedroom and to his dresser; inside was a hollowed-out book, A Tale of Two Cities, where he kept the money he’d acquired from his meals. Quickly, he grabbed some change and went back to the door. He prayed this would be the last he saw of Stephanie. She was still smiling when he reopened the door.
“This is all I have,” he said, dropping change into her palm without making contact.
“Thanks,” she said. Then she offered him a raised eyebrow. “Did you do something new?”
Thomas touched his face and turned it away. “No,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I’m not feeling the best today. I should go back to bed.”
“I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just your skin—it looks all better.”
Thomas could almost feel himself blush and he instantly imagined his skin raw and bleeding. He wanted to turn and run.
Stephanie looked embarrassed herself. “I couldn’t help but notice your skin condition—I am a nurse. I assume you have eczema, or psoriasis? Looks like it’s all gone though?”
Thomas coughed, feigning a cold, anything to divert her attention away from his skin.
“It comes and goes—food sets it off mostly. Sorry, but I really need to rest.”
He started to close the door, almost abruptly, but still Stephanie kept smiling.
“Okay, thanks for the change Thomas. Maybe we can still have that house-warming coffee?”
Thomas closed the door, not giving her answer. He fell back into bed, his heart pounding in waves across his chest. The broken routine was tiring him. As he drifted off to sleep, he imagined Stephanie peeling off her skin and offering it to him.
If only she knew how happy that would make me feel.
He awoke at 7 pm. His new suit was holding up well, but he was afraid to even splash water on his face or go outside for fear of contaminating it. He dressed in a new shirt and jeans and examined his new self in the mirror. He thought the last meal’s facial accents really brought out the now golden-brown colour of his eyes.
Thomas didn’t exactly understand how the transition worked, but he knew when he fed, he absorbed pieces of his meals’ DNA, so he might have a slightly longer nose, or fuller lips.
He was face-to-face with his reflection, when another knock on the front door startled him. Surely not her again? His fears were confirmed when he opened the door to find Stephanie standing in the hall, two coffees-to-go in her hands.
“Hey,” she said. “I thought you might need one of these.” She wore a tight-fitted top and jeans. Her hair flowed over one shoulder and she’d even put on make-up. Stephanie was obviously trying to impress Thomas, but she was already under his skin.
Thomas took the cup reluctantly, wincing at the residual heat on his palm. He almost dropped it.
“Uh, thanks,” he said. “What do I owe you?”
Stephanie shook her hand. “No, no, my treat, however maybe you could repay me by helping me unpack a few boxes, if you’re feeling better of course?”
He watched her tease a strand of hair behind her ear and smile. She was eager to make friends and it made his new body quicken. He wanted to close the door on her again, but he knew it would seem strange and he didn’t want to come across as strange—it would draw too much attention.
