On shaking limbs, he stood, swallowing back the bile rising in his throat. His hand searched out in the darkness, trembling fingers found the deadbolt, and relief washed over him in waves. His slippery, sweaty hands desperately tried to grasp the locking mechanism, and Frank felt the panic rise up in him as if it might explode through the roof of his head.
The bolt slid, a loud click echoing through the room. He froze. The deep rumbling growl of the beast suddenly filled the air. Frank could feel the monster’s eyes leveling on him, and the blackness of the room didn’t matter. In his blindness, he pictured snarling fangs, bloodshot eyes, and talons capable of shredding human flesh into nothing but red ribbons of gore.
The growl came closer, the feel of hot breath on his legs. He knew, if he turned, it would be there—whatever it was. His fingers slipping as he franticly twisted the knob, he pressed himself against the door and tried not to scream or cry. His thoughts jumbled, whispered prayers and visions of all the people he loved mixed with all his regrets. The demons that drove him to drink and to mourn a life he had never known flashed in vivid color, making the tears slip from his eyes ever faster. Finally, the knob turned, and the door opened a crack. Frank twisted to the left, yanking with all his might as he tried to fling open the door to run.
The night outside was a glorious sight as his eyes leveled on the flickering vacancy sign behind the dingy glass of the office door. Frank managed a single step forward before pain ripped through his calf, the sensation of four large hooks sliding through flesh and muscle to ensnare him. He was falling, flailing, trying to grasp the door frame as he went down. The short tips of his fingernails dug through metal and paint as he struggled and screamed.
The pain, searing terrible pain, cut through him as the monster bit down. The large canines sank into the back of his thigh, dragging him backward as he dug hands into the threadbare carpet and kicked his feet. Desperation overtook him, and he reached back, fingers meeting damp coarse hair. With all the strength he could muster, and the adrenaline pumping in his veins, Frank closed his fist and struck the blood soaked muzzle.
Angered, the creature shook its head, teeth clamping down through the thick muscle and layers of fat until its victim cried out in pure anguish. It answered with a reverberating growl that sounded as if it were the very devil himself roaring into a pit of souls serving penance for the worst of wrongs.
The powerful monster whipped him from side to side as if he was a rag doll, and Frank could no longer find his mark, no matter how he twisted or turned. His fist became an aimless and useless weapon as the creature dug both sets of its deadly claws into his leg and reared back to take another debilitating bite. In the brief interval between torment and pure, undiluted agony, a memory of his ex-wife stirred in the cloud of fear and blood.
Her sweet southern drawl sounded like an angel in his ear as the memory of her spoke, “The instructor said, if you are attacked, always go for the eyes, the throat, the groin, or the instep.” She had looked so proud of herself as she demonstrated everything she’d learned in the self-defense class, and recalling how he’d shrugged it off at the time hurt Frank nearly as much as the claws and teeth.
The monster dropped its large head, and Frank struck. Jabbing his thumb and forefinger in blind hope, the tender orbs gave and an oozing, liquid pop followed. Curving his fingers at the last minute, he yanked his hand forward, just as the creature leapt away—howling in confused pain. In a spray of liquid and a sickening rip, the eyeballs were torn from the sockets.
No time to think of his mangled limp, no time to consider if it might fail. Frank fought to distance himself from the creature, using his elbows to propel his body and pushing with one foot. In the battle, he’d lost his direction, but he did not care. He’d find the way out. He’d escape the demon animal, even if it meant returning to the woman and child.
A small edging of light appeared as if by a miracle of God, just as the monster’s terrible screams of pain faded into the angered growl of a wounded predator ready to devour its prey. Punctuated by eerie whimpers, it snarled and snapped into the darkness, tasting blood and searching for purchase. Frank crawled faster, clamping down on his urge to cry out curses. The terrible pain chased itself through his thigh and the cold, dull ache still lingered in his shoulder.
It seemed to take hours to reach where the light edged along the wall, and with desperate hands he felt the outline of a door. There was no cool air, no scent of freedom, but it meant escaping the thing that thirsted for him as it stalked the room in a blind fury only a few feet away. Pushing upward with his arms, he tried to bend the wounded limp, and cried out.
The burning sensation only a fresh wound could bring rocked him forward until his head smacked the wall. His teeth nearly pierced the flesh inside his mouth as he bit down and held his breath, but the monster heard. The only proof of its existence in the ebony darkness of the room was the deeper blackness that signified its massive body and the stench of death that ascended up from its blood-matted coat. Still, Frank knew it was there, close by and lurking. It had used its heightened senses to track him down, coming to stand before him.
His fingers found the door handle, the fear palpable as he remembered the first slice of the monster’s claws. Steady, Frank. You know what to do. Body twisted sideways, he dared not turn his back on the beast as it loudly sniffed the air and whimpered in pain once more. He ran his palms down the front of his shirt, drying off blood and sweat, before reaching for the sliding lock near the top.
The bolt slid quietly and with ease. The handle turned in silence. The edge of the flimsy door cracked open, the light searing the darkness as if an explosion had occurred. As fast as he could, Frank yanked the door open and spun around, backing out. The illumination from the next room cast the beast in its glow, and in the confusion of what his eyes were seeing, Frank froze.
The beast howled and lunged forward, teeth gnashing in the air, saliva and blood frothing at the corners of its cavernous jaws as it fought to find purchase. Sharp pointed ears, bloody sockets for eyes, and a long snout filled with gleaming white canines tarnished in blood angrily twisted before him. The worst part of all was the body—the lower half appeared human for all intents and purposes, except for the matted fur and long sharp claws.
He hesitated too long, caught in the horrors of the mutant monster. The thing lifted its canine-like head, sniffed the air, and leaped. Its arms extended, deadly talons at full length, it flew at the open door. Frank barely had enough time to slam it shut and stumble backward before the distorted humanoid impacted with enough force to crack the door down the center.
Undeterred, the beast clawed at the barrier, its loud snarls and snaps punctuated by howls and pain filled whines. Frank stumbled, his injured leg giving out as he tumbled to the floor in a heap of panic, pain, and fright. Holding his chest, praying his heart would hold out long enough for escape, he scanned his new environment.
*****
Just a room. Frank sighed as he took stock of his surroundings. The light flooded every nook and cranny, revealing nothing but a shabby hotel room. No goblins, or…monsters, or ghosts. Monster, that bastard, that poor bastard. Even as he cursed the beast who had tried to kill him, he pitied the human it had once been. What the hell could do that to a person?
Should’ve put on some damn pants. Shouldn’t have even got up at all. Should have stayed in the bed. Carefully, he rolled to his side a bit, and maneuvered so he could get a look at the back of his leg. Eight huge gouges and deep, shredded lines ran down from the top of the thigh to the terrible hole right above the bend in the knee. More wounds littered his calf.
Wrapped in the false safety of the light, Frank struggled to stand. Mouth turned down in a grimace and hobbling awkwardly to the door, he tried the handle. “Shit,” he screamed in frustration as his hand jiggled the knob. “Damnit!” Fist pounding against the wood, he prayed someone would hear him. “Help! Please, please help me! Someone, can you hear me?”
Th
e answer to his question came, not from outside, but from the beneath the bed. The raspy childlike whisper with overtones of dried autumn leaves being crushed, whispered, “Come closer, little fly, I will help you.”
With a helpless moan, Frank began to back away, his hand already searching for the door to the next room. A strange clicking noise filled the air, and the flimsy bed ruffle fluttered as something shiny and yellow skimmed the edge.
“Don’t be afraid. I’m here to help you. I can make the pain go away,” the voice rustled and rasped. “I can smell your blood. The big bad doggie gotcha, didn’t he?” Well, I can make it better. Come closer.”
“No. Leave me alone!” Frank screamed in fear and anger. Hoping whatever nasty beastie was scurrying beneath the bed would not come out because of the light, he twisted the knob on the connecting door, preparing to shove his way through. Remembering he had not undone the bolt at the top, he turned, but something in the voice made him pause as if hypnotized.
“Silly human man, you cannot escape us. No one ever does. Why go beyond this room? Why face what lies next? You won’t like it. She is a nasty creature, the nastiest of us all. She has blades and sharp things. You will not die for a very long time. She will make it hurt and make you beg, but she will keep you alive for as long as she can. Come to me. I won’t make you hurt. I will wrap you up in blissful sleep and take your life before she can.”
Frank wanted to undo the lock, push his way forward, and take his chances. He had gone through three rooms; he only had to reach the other side of the next room. He could pound on the walls if there was no door leading to the office and safety. Surely, he could awaken Marla, she would help. His hand slid the bolt backward and turned the knob. However, the voice held him in place. Its promises of a simple and peaceful death a temptation Frank never thought he’d welcome.
As if it could feel his pause, the creature shuffled in its dark hiding place, the chittering sound growing louder. “That’s it, stay away from her. She’s a bad one, she is. She’s waiting for you. Come closer, little fly.”
Coaxed by the lulling tone, Frank took a shaky step, his eyes narrowing as he searched the shadows under the bed. His leg aching and bleeding as the blood dotted the carpet with each movement, he whispered, “What are you?”
His answer came in the white and sticky thread that shot out, smacking against his wounded leg with a sickening splat. In one swift motion, the creature stepped out and pulled hard, its eight legs working to tow him in.
Horrified, Frank couldn’t think past his own reflection in the eight black eyes staring out at him with hunger and the two fangs awaiting his flesh. Its pale yellow body sported delicate black stripes and was as nearly as large as a truck tire. At full height, the strange arachnid stood even with the bed. A horror movie model, the spider’s strength worked in its favor almost as much as the fear of seeing such a thing.
As it yanked again, the excited clicking grew deafening and another splatter of web latched on to his torso, snapping Frank out of his trance. The venom coating the webbing didn’t hurt, but he could feel it as it soaked into his blood stream. Rolling to his side, he pushed hard with his good leg and dragged himself with his arm. The memory of the mutant dog biting into his flesh pushed him onward and away from the spider’s fangs. He struggled and screamed—pleading for Marla to hear him.
The monster’s voice was no longer a lulling crackle of youth, instead it turned high pitched and chilling. “Yes, Yes!” it squalled. “Struggle all you want, human. It only wraps the web tighter.”
In an instance of clarity, Frank fell onto his back and stared into the round black eyes that seemed to dance with delight. Inside his head, he whispered a sweet goodbye to his boys and his ex-wife as he stared down death. The spider drew him closer, nearly percolating in its excitement. The yellow and black exoskeleton shimmered in the light of the room as the sharp tips of its legs slammed down into Frank’s knees, causing him to roar in agony.
“No more running! Time to fight. If I’m going to die, then I’m taking as many of you bastards out with me as I can,” he screamed as the creature prepared to sink its poison into his body.
Slamming his good foot forward, he smashed his heel into the beast’s fangs even as a spurt of web snapped toward his face. Frank jerked, the glue-like substance smacking his chest and neck as the spider reared backward, screaming in pain.
“Oh you nasy, nasy human. How dare you?” it cried as its legs danced in an out from under the bed.
Frank could feel the poison in his system, slowing his coordination and stalling his muscles as he tried to crawl away. Unsure of how badly he had wounded the thing, he struggled to gain distance, despite the pain and deterioration wracking his body.
The creature screamed through broken fangs, “Thrawl away, nasthy human. Thrawl. Go. Die by her thand! If you than esthape thish room.”
The toxins were setting in quickly, his body refused to obey his mind. Struggling to breathe, Frank inched his away from the angry sounds coming from shadow beneath the bed. At the door, he found he couldn’t pull himself up, the paralysis had taken complete control, the blood loss had weakened him, and the fear had his heart shuttering in his chest.
Banging his head softly against the door, he wept, his lips unable to form the words to call out any longer. Then, as if by some miracle, the door opened and a face appeared in the darkness.
****
Marla stood above him, pink lips pursed and her bleached blonde hair perfectly sculpted. “Well, you’ve certainly made a mess of yourself, haven’t you?” Shaking her head in disgust, she grabbed him by the arms and dragged him into the next room.
Thank God. Please help me, Marla. Lock the door and call for help. His mind pleaded words his tongue could not form as his eyes beseeched the strange woman to save them both.
No longer dressed in her ratty robe, Marla wore tight jeans with the dirty white tank. As she circled around him, her hot pink heels clicked loudly on the cheap linoleum floor. Frank had half a second to wonder about the lack of carpet before she bent down beside him and began to fasten a harness around his chest. Her mouth curved into a grimace as she hefted from side to side, fitting the straps over his arms.
“Geez, Frank. You could use to lose some weight,” she complained as she stood and disappeared out of his line of vision. “Hmmm… I hadn’t really had time to think much about you since your arrival. What type of monster should haunt number four, do you think?”
Her words caused panic to strike his brain like a fist. He’d thought she’d save him. In his half-delirious and fully paralyzed state, he’d not even considered why she’d fitted him with a harness. He had been so grateful for a human face, he hadn’t thought of the spitting spider’s words. The little beast had told him the next room’s occupant was a nasty one, but he hadn’t thought—
His inner workings jolted and his thoughts scattered as Marla pressed a button, causing the winch to drag his body upward. With deft hands, she guided him upward, and despite his head lulling to his chest, Frank could see much of the room as he helplessly swayed.
The walls and floor were yellow with rust-colored splatters creating a strange pattern across the paint. Strange instruments and sharp blades sat on tables, the metal glinting in the light. Frank rose higher, and Marla swung his legs up onto a table, causing his head to flop to the side. His vision blurred and cleared, allowing him to see the horrors that lay to his right.
Bodies, human and animal, were stacked in the corner. Limbs and faces, paws and fur, all matted with blood and in different states of decay. Flies buzzed around the pile, and unable to turn away, his eyes were drawn to the maggots crawling in the bloody crevices of the corpses. He wanted to retch, felt the bile building in his throat, but even those muscles seemed unable to perform such an action.
Marla laid him back, humming an old country song as she did. “Damn, I’ve got to do something ‘bout Grace. She gets too carried away with the webs. By the time I get the bodies, the
y’re too stiff to even work with,” she seemed to say to herself before turning her attention to him. As she pulled away the harness, she cooed, “It was a nice surprise to find you in such good shape. Usually the others do a decent job of shredding someone up before I get to play. I like having a nice clean specimen for once, and the fact that you’re still breathin’ means I get to keep ya.” Patting his cheek she giggled and turned his head so the heap of corpses was no longer visible.
The shifting of his body awakened a sharp tickle of pain in his leg, and Frank felt an ounce of hope. Marla hadn’t tied him down, and if he could regain his muscle control, he could easily overpower her. With the array of weapons in the room, escape would be easy.
Patience. I must be patient, if I let her know the venom is wearing off, she might kill me.
Marla’s lips spread in a large grin and her eyes sparkled as she poked him in his belly. “Hmm… It’s a pity I don’t have a wild boar in the scrap pile. I’d make you out to be the pig you are, Frank. Instead, I think I have just the thing.”
Turning her back to him, she began laying out her instruments and tools—a wide variety of things with sharp edges that promised pain and agony in immeasurable quantities. Frank took advantage of the moment, wiggling his toes and fingers, urging his body to fight against the poison that had rendered him powerless against the woman. To his dismay, most of his body was still a useless mass of bones and flesh. The tears leaking from his eyes trickled down his cheeks as he prayed he’d make it out alive.
Facing him once more, Marla held the sharp blade above his right eye, centimeters away from the vulnerable orb. “Now, be a good boy so you don’t turn out like old wolfy in there. He’s a mess, but I blame him completely. You can’t be squirmin’ round and messin’ me up.”
Frank tried to scream, no longer caring if she realized he wasn’t fully paralyzed. Despite his best efforts, his mouth only half opened, and a slurred moan eked out. Struggling in vain, his fingers and toes wiggled, but nothing more.
As Mad as a Hatter: A Short Story Collection Page 7
