every limb and filling his mind with wobble juice. Suddenly the laughter came to an abrupt stop, and the dead silence that the cave seemed so good at producing was all that was left.
He knew that if he was to survive this situation then he would have to shake off the terror that squeezed him from all sides, so with as much effort as he could muster he tried to force himself to overcome his fear. He knew he didn't have much time before the creature moved in for the kill, still it seemed to him to be a hell of a slow process as first he regained movement in one finger and then another and for a fraction of a second he thought he had taken too long as he imagined the grinning horror with death on it's lips inches away from his exposed throat.
Once his arm was working enough to be moved in small, slow movements, he felt about himself to give him some idea of where he was at in the pit. He had a good idea anyway and this was confirmed as his fingers touched the cold lifeless skin of Phil’s face. He knew from the position that Phil’s head lay that when he was thrown, his own head must have cracked onto Phil’s causing the thudding noise he had heard earlier.
He prepared himself to reach over for the torch, first listening for any sound, but unable to hear anything except his own breathing. As his hand came within a foot of the torch a voice, cold and evil, that spoke in short sentences, cut through the air replacing the terror he had felt: ten fold. "Your time is at an end now. Mervin will have plenty of food this night. Prepare for the pain as I rip out your innards. Tear out your throat. Dice you and splice you ... ".
As the sound of slopping footsteps approached him, Greg seized up the torch and shone it helplessly as the man covered in mud walked slowly over to him chanting what he was going to do.
"Dance on your brains and pull out your teeth. Poke out your eyes and ... "
As the mudman closed on the shivering Greg, it suddenly stopped in its tracks and speaking no more of the things it was going to do to him, cocked it's head to one side as if listening to something. A confused look spread across it's face as the cold evil eyes danced from side to side in there sockets.
Then Greg heard something as well. A humming sound came from above and grew closer and closer by the second. The closer it got, the more the sound seemed to change until a light patter could be heard, as though a million tiny feet marched slowly towards them. Something small dropped down through the beam of Greg's torch and scuttled over to the mudman. Greg watched as a large black beetle ran up the leg of the mudman, on reaching his chest it tried to use its small mandibles to burrow into him. The mudman’s face filled with disgust as he raised his hand and brushed off the beetle.
Greg (who had raised himself so he now sat on the mud floor) watched in wonder at what he'd just seen; also saw many more black spots dropping through his torch beam. Shining his torch onto the ground he watched open mouthed as beetles, spiders, caterpillars, flies, ants and every other type of bug (and then some) that he'd seen in the swamp outside began to drop from above and land in the pit. Once on the floor they ran, crawled, flew and jumped at the mudman who flung his arms around crazily in a mad attempt to get them off.
As he beat his chest with he's hands, squashing many of the bugs, more piled onto him and started biting and burrowing into the mud that covered his body. The insects attack was so vicious that Greg could plainly see pieces of dirt flying off the mudman. And where they removed the dirt, flesh lay beneath for the mandibles to bite into, causing blood to shower out.
Insects fell everywhere. Even landing on Greg, though taking no notice of him whatsoever. Once they had landed onto the floor of the pit they ran straight for the mudman. Soon there was a thick carpet of bugs, some four inches in depth that bounced up and down resembling water made from a myriad of different colors that had come alive and was intent on reaching the mudman and drown him beneath wave after wave of its contents of tiny vicious bugs.
Greg rose to his feet, keeping his torch firmly on the mudman who flailed his arms about infernally. It was then he noticed the mudman`s eyes. The evil and the mocking hatred that had filled them before had been replaced with something else. Greg turned around feeling a new kind of terror and ran for the ladder, the only escape he knew that would take him out of the pit of madness.
He climbed the ladder and made his way as fast as was possible out from the cave, down a long stone corridor, into the large cavern and past the mushrooms which also where being attacked by bugs. Crawling through the small tunnel with the mushroom shaped stone and out into the small cavern with the clay statue, constantly squashing every type of insect and bug imaginable below his feet as they scuttled across the cave floor, heading in the opposite direction from the path he hurried along.
It didn't matter to him though, he was out now. Out of the cave, though the thought of those eyes still shook him to the core. "The eyes, those eyes", he thought as the vision refused to remove itself from his mind.
When Greg had seen the mudman's eyes, they had lost the evil that had first filled them and the real man who lay beneath the thick lair of mud was exposed to him. The eyes revealed all and he recognized those eyes.
He sat panting on the bank of the hill as he regained his breadth. He smiled to himself as tears of happiness rolled down his cheeks.
Looking to the swamp, he watched still more insects make there way into the cave and as he did a warm feeling of joy filled his heart. He knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that for a second time an old friend had come to his aid and once again, saved his life.
THE END
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If you like happier endings then it is highly advised that you finish this story HERE. However, if you want to know the real truth about what happened during the fateful expedition, then READ ON:
YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED
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THE ALTERNATIVE ENDING
Now that really should be the end of Greg's story. And I suppose that you little boys and little girls out there really do believe that it was indeed Mervin Badman who caused the three friends of Greg to go missing in such strange circumstances. This might be true, after all who am I to say, but before we come to any final decisions, let's look at those facts. Also before we start can I just point out that if you are little boys or little girls then for starters you shouldn't be reading this anyway, now should you!
Let’s just imagine for an instance that something else happened that night. Perhaps when the police searched the moors for the three missing men after being informed about murders and legends by a certain Greg Hiesiner and later checked the diary that Greg had handed to them, perhaps what they found was that some of the diaries handwriting was not in the style of Adam's, but indeed of Greg's.
And when the police did find the three men on the moors they where indeed found dead and half eaten, though the police would not put the cause of death down to some old wives tale that roamed about, capturing innocent victims in his magical fairy rings.
Instead the police might put the cause of death down to the large axe wounds embedded into the sculls of each victim. Wounds caused by an axe, with a handle covered in the muddy fingerprints, and from a man suffering from a second nervous breakdown just after losing a beetle that he claims had once saved his life.
This also means of course that all the precious time you've spent reading this story will have been wasted because the only thing you've actually been reading are the ramblings of a madman.
And let's just say that the above for an instant was indeed true, then the police might also search Mr.Hiesiner for further evidence and find on his person Mr.Hiesiner's very own diary, complete with mad scribbling talking of how he needs to control himself at all times, and a last entry that might have read:
"I ha
ve many thoughts, lots and lots. Happy, cheery thoughts that swim in my head, surfacing at times and bringing me great deals of pleasure. I like to think and imagine small things that can change my life for the better. Even a simple thought that will bring a smile to my face, make me laugh out loud and bless god for creating me, is always nice in its own little way.
Have you ever tried to imagine what a thought looks like in your head. I have. I picture my thoughts as multitudes of beautiful burning flames that glitter and dance inside my scull, waiting for an opportunity to jump up to surprise then inspire me.
A red flame might for example bring pictures of white fluffy rabbits jumping in a field of grass where a golden sun warms the day. A blue flame could be an idea that will let me organize my everyday routines better and make my life run that little bit more smoothly. Ah yes, two lovely lovely thoughts. Thought’s to treasure.
And so they dance and flicker in a group within my head, playing with one another like a bunch of happy little children. These thoughts are nice thoughts and always welcome whenever they emerge and brighten my day. They dance there dance in my head and form a small happy group.
There is however one other thought, it does not play like the others or even mix with them, it makes sure it keeps well away from them, huddled in some far off corner in my head. Its flame is not bright and glossy like the rest but instead burns a dirty, nasty, oily black, the color I imagine nightmares must be. This is the one thought I must never let surface. Never again, especially after what happened last time.
Like many of my thoughts it is very very simple, but simplicity is not always something small and delicate. The thought manifests itself into three words (and on rarer occasions four) that repeat over and over in my brain, bouncing from one wall of my scull to the other, never ever vanishing, not until I’ve done what the thought demands.
Three simple words, imagine them repeating with no let up, not even sleep will make them go away. Three words: Time to kill. Time to kill. TIME TO FUCKING KILL!!!
THE REAL END
Mervin Badman Page 7
