Bottom Feeder

by Matt Cole

  Sheriff Hill gave him a long look. “Tell me you’re not looking into these disappearances?”

  “Of course not,” Chapel added. “That’s what you have men like Townsend here for, right?”

  Townsend whipped around to glare at Chapel, who he knew had to have a bad attitude toward authority. Gary Chapel returned his gaze coolly.

  “Enough of this petty arguing, Detective,” Sheriff Hill said. “I gave you a direct order and I expect you to follow it. You have ten minutes to get what you came here for and then to go home.” With that the Sheriff turned around and left.

  “You’re in the shit now,” Detective Sergeant Townsend said and laughed.

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Chapel responded.

  * * * *

  Deena lay on the cot, beaten and battered. She hurt all over, but not as much as her mind told her she ought to. Maybe she was dying. Maybe all her struggling had only left her hurting and perhaps she’d ruptured something inside her that was slowly killing her.

  No. No, she didn’t believe that. There was something she had to do.

  Save herself.

  She was no longer going to be a victim in life.

  First her marriage to Joseph, who beat her and now this…

  Deena opened her eyes to almost complete darkness. The fire was nothing but glimmering red coals. She was clutching the blanket with a death grip; she’d grabbed it for warmth in a twilight state of floating pain.

  She had to save herself soon or fail trying.

  Had to.

  She couldn’t let Arlene and her master, Deros—whoever or whatever he was—win.

  Carefully, she lifted her right wrist, about all the energy she had left. It was scraped raw, through more layers of skin than she believed a human possessed. Dried blood was everywhere. Hers? Arlene, too, undoubtedly.

  But as much as she hurt, as injured as she was, Deena couldn’t give up.

  Setting her teeth, she slid to the edge of the cot and looked down at the welded joint. Her struggle with her bounds had taken a toll on it. An unexpected bonus for her. It looked weaker than it had before. Maybe weak enough to break?

  Deena’s heart started pounding a deep, painful scar into her skin. If she could summon her strength, she might be able to free herself.

  But would it be in time to save herself and perhaps others if they too were being held down here?

  Determinedly, closing her eyes, clenching her teeth, Deena yanked hard on her right handcuff.

  * * * *

  Michael James Leopold didn’t trust anyone.

  Especially strangers who appeared at his small, remote cottage in the middle of the worst neighborhoods in Strafford and yet, here was this guy—this cop—standing on his broken-down front stoop. He didn’t unlatch the chain, which he knew wouldn’t hold anyone who really wanted to get in, but the shotgun he had in the hand hidden behind the door casing would probably do the trick along with his giant mutt dog.

  “Mr. Leopold, or can I call you Mike?” Detective Gary Chapel asked. His eyes were dark beneath the brim of his baseball cap that was collecting snow. “’Member me? Detective Gary Chapel…er, spoke with you the other day…and believes…”

  “That there really is a monster living underground and beneath this town,” Leopold said as his hand tightened over the stock of the gun, but he kept his cool. “I remember your face when you came running out of the house over on Douty. Shit, you were scared!”

  “Yes, I was.” The detective didn’t seem to be anymore. “Now the question is how do we stop it?”

  “Good question,” Leopold said as he reluctantly cracked open the door and Chapel walked inside. “Stay right here, I’ll get the dog.”

  “I need your help in stopping this thing,” Chapel told him. He handed Leopold a rolled-u map, a list of names, and a scratched-out town history, of sorts, on the monster in question. “I got as much stuff as I could think of. Names of marksmen. Maps of the area. Explosives. What I know of Deros.”

  “Deros? Yes that’s its name.”

  “I had heard the story of this creature long ago when my grandfather told it to me. Somehow I’d forgotten it,” Chapel said.

  “And you think we can kill it?” Leopold reiterated.

  “That is the plan, yes.”

  “I’ve tried for years to find a way to stop it and to no avail, detective,” Leopold replied.

  “How hard have you really tried?”

  “As hard as I could—being labeled a nutcase has hindered my ability to purchase the necessary equipment for doing so,” explained Leopold.

  “I can’t do anything about that now,” Chapel said. “But I am trying to make up for it. I’m here ready to do something to stop this thing.”

  “No one knows about it,” Leopold reminded Chapel. “That’s the deal. You know that. What did your grandfather say about this monster?”

  “I don’t recall him mentioning anyway to kill it.”

  Mike Leopold laughed. “Maybe because that’s because there may not be a way to kill it.”

  Chapel ground his teeth. Leopold was right, of course. The monster could have survived this long living underneath the town because it could not be killed. His grandfather, looking back now, could be considered an expert on the lore of the creature. Perhaps his father and his father’s father before that had tried and failed to kill it. Chapel’s disillusionment with all things about Deros was a by-product of his own growing fear and secretive nature. But that didn’t mean the monster couldn’t be killed!

  “So are we giving up on killing it?” Leopold asked.

  “Hell no,” Chapel replied. “If nothing else we need to stop it. Whether we kill it in the process is irrelevant at the moment.”

  Leopold grunted in agreement. “Then let’s lay all our cards on the table and see what we have to go on.”

  “Okay,” Chapel said reluctantly, clicking open a Tic-Tac container and throwing a few inside his mouth. “Let’s get to work. Time is one thing we do not have a lot of. I don’t know if you have heard but the town is being attacked from beneath with sinkholes opening up all over.”

  Leopold nodded. “Got any kind of time frame on when the National Guard will be arriving?”

  “No. But if I know the Sheriff, she’d make sure it is very soon.”

  Mike Leopold rubbed his hands together as he dropped into a rolling desk chair that groaned under his weight. He produced a stack of papers that included maps, notes, and histories that he had collected over the years as well.

  “Hopefully we can find some answer to how to stop Deros in reviewing all of our notes,” Leopold said.

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Chapter 31

  Crack!

  With a metallic snap, the weld gave way.

  Deena’s heart rocketed. She bit back a cry of victory.

  It was quiet in her makeshift prison.

  Cold.

  No bit of morning light showed through the window high overhead, though the fire was on its last breath, the faintest glow of red allowing her just enough illumination to make out objects in the room.

  Every muscle in her body ached. To move was excruciating and yet she was pretty sure that, other than a few cracked ribs, no bones were broken. Her arm didn’t work well and her head throbbed but she had refused to give up.

  She found her clothes in a pile nearby and dressed hastily stepped into her jeans, socks; however, she couldn’t bother with her bra, but was able to pull her jacket over her shoulders. Arlene had been gone for hours, probably back to her “real” life. Deena did wonder if anyone was looking for her. The thought made her sick, but she was convinced by the length of time that Arlene was gone, both during the days as well as the nights, that she had her regular job as a real estate agent, and either this was her house or perhaps—and most likely—a house that she was listing. That this dungeon prison was her fantasy lair, the place where Arlene could let her sick nightmare of mind control from this “so-called
” monster, Deros, control her.

  She eased back off the cot and, with her uninjured shoulder, pushed up on its frame, fitting the frame close to her neck as she teased the thin links of her handcuffs free of the now undone welded leg. There wasn’t much room, the chain caught several times to her disappointment.

  Please give me the strength, she thought, to persevere.

  Slowly the chain slipped through and Deena was free—at last! Take that! Despite her small triumph Deena’s hands were still cuffed in front of her. She found the fire place poker, the only weapon in the room, and then once it was at her side, located her shoes. Fighting pain, she stepped into her shoes.

  Her arms were still free.

  Heart thundering irregularly, Deena made her way to the door. She thought she was alone, had heard Arlene leave, and the fact that no light glowed from under the door told her that Arlene had let her fire die as well inside the house or building she was being held in. There were no lights or lanterns of any kind giving off illumination.

  But Arlene could be inside asleep.

  You don’t know what or who is inside the house.

  Wishing for all she was worth that she had some sort of gun rather than the simple fire place poker, Deena held her breath as she had climbed the stairs quietly and then tried the door.

  It was unlocked.

  Arlene truly believed that she was no threat. And why not? Deena probably looked half dead after being kept so long in the cold, dark basement. Deena had certainly felt that way.

  The door creaked open and Deena braced herself, half-expecting Arlene to hurl herself at her.

  But the room on the other side was as dark as the basement, the fire nearly dead. It was much larger than the basement by about four times and the fireplace was very ornate and giant. Again, there were windows high overhead and she had the feeling most of this house was part of a larger incomplete subdivision just outside of Strafford.

  Several doors opened from the main living area with its wide stone floor and huge table. The armoire stood against one wall and for the first time Deena noticed that there was electricity—light switches near the doors, outlets on the walls.

  This was either someone’s house that was away or a model home that Arlene knew of, Deena guessed.

  Not that she had time to worry about it. Quickly Deena surveyed the area, looking for a better weapon, or keys to the cuffs, even a bobby pin that she could strip of its plastic coating and use to unlock the handcuffs. She had watched a lot of crime movies and television shows and figured she knew how to do it. There was nothing on the table.

  But the armoire…

  Without hesitation, she limped to the huge cabinet and opened its double doors. Inside were papers, mostly real estate related. Books on the history of Pennsylvania and of our country were slid into slots. Along with boxes neatly stacked and drawings… It was too dark to make them out clearly, but…

  Her stomach dropped as she realized that they were drawings of a horrendous monster-type of creature with the words ‘Master’ lovingly written across the top of them. This was what was making Arlene kidnap and hold prisoner others? Oh, God, so many drawings of the monster. It frightened Deena.

  Telling herself that she was running out of time, shivering with the cold, she opened some of the drawers and searched. Please, come on, come on, and let the keys be…

  She saw them then. A drawer of metal keys—car keys and door keys and…there were the tiny handcuff keys. Her hands trembled nervously as she worked the lock with difficulty. It was a lot more work than she had witnessed on television. Half-expecting a door to be flung open at any second, Deena set her jaw and forced the tiny key into the lock.

  It worked!

  One cuff fell open.

  She considered removing the second but didn’t want to waste a second more than she had too. Deena needed to bandage the freed wrist; however there was no time. She stuffed the key into her pocket. She surveyed the room for a weapon still, or a phone, or even a computer would work, anything so that she could get word to the outside world, the police, the Pentagon, hell a direct line to the president, Deena did not care, but no luck.

  Fuck!

  Although she did uncover a flashlight, and when she cast its beam over the contents of the armoire one last time, she nearly jumped out of her skin. There, messages and stars were more pictures. Of more victims Arlene had presumably captured. Each one naked, bound to a cot, still very much alive, terror in their eyes. Then the pictures were of people inside these huge, green, gelatin-like cubes.

  Deena’s stomach quivered.

  She had no choice but to leave the evidence where it was, and find a means of escape. For herself, for the others who may still be down below.

  Fury burning through her blood, Deena hurried back to her prison, grabbed the rest of her clothes, and carefully pulled them on; chafing at the extra time it was taking because of her injuries. She intended to find the other captives and kill whoever or whatever was down there with them.

  The fire place poker at the ready in one hand, flashlight in the other, her body still aching, she held her breath and slowly opened the door to freedom. Inside of running out the front door as she was afraid that Arlene or perhaps the monster that was controlling her was outside, Deena instead went into the tunnels below the basement, hoping that it would take her away from the house and danger.

  Hurry! Run, you fool, run!

  Deena’s mind screamed at her, pushed her, kept her going to the point that she was out of breath.

  And panicked.

  Her lungs were burning, fear sizzling through every inch of her.

  Don’t freak out. Don’t panic. Do not!

  God, if she only had a gun or a cute police officer—like that detective she’d met—she would feel much more confident right now.

  Yeah, like that was going to happen? Down here? In this freakin’ the tunnels?

  Forcing back the terror that caused the edges of her sanity to fray, Deena kept moving, swinging the beam of the flashlight along the narrow tunnels. Her path to freedom had opened to this, a subterranean maze. Nevertheless she had to keep searching, looking for the other hostages and for a way out. Dust was everywhere, spider webs abounded, and droppings of vermin along with a slick, ooze or slime similar to the green gelatin-like substance she’d seen in the pictures of some of the other hostages littered the floor as Deena strove to find a way out of her prison. Pain jabbed her ribs with every breath, her joints throbbed, her wrist burned where it was flayed, and her legs still wobbled, and her heart pounded crazily as she strained to listen, squinted to see, hoped beyond hope that she would not run into the creature in Arlene’s drawings returning down one of these dark corridors.

  Earlier, with no time to waste, she had begun pushing small mounds of dirt out of her way, pulling roots from her path only to discover that she was trapped in some kind of intricate maze. Aside from the basement with the fireplace, big table, and the sicko’s armoire the evidence of the crimes Arlene had committed or at least been a part of, there were tunnels dug into the earth, all angling off in different directions and extending to different depths.

  Perhaps it was part of some old silver or gold mine beneath Strafford?

  How in the world would she ever find the other hostages? Save them?

  The hills around this part of Pennsylvania were riddled with mines from a bygone era; though few of the old shafts and tunnels, Deena thought, were as so intricate and large as these.

  There had to be a way out of these tunnels.

  Deena just had to remain patient.

  Think logically and clearly—while her mind was screaming at her to run.

  And her mouth was dry with the fear that she was too late to save the other hostages.

  Deena felt her grip tightening on the poker even as her muscles yelled in protest.

  Relax.

  Take some deep breaths and calm down.

  Get your fucking bearings, girl!

  Wha
t would that detective think if he thought you lost your mind down here?

  Think logically and rationally.

  Remain calm.

  A voice resonated in her ears and in her mind’s eye she saw a visage: it was bright red and as long as twenty feet, the worm-like beast resembled a cow’s intestine with spikes at either end.

  Her heart twisted and Deena wondered if she would really see the Master again. If she’d ever really be a part of him.

  God, she had to keep going for Maggie and Willard and for herself.

  She kept the fading, yellow beam of the flashlight on the darkness ahead. Deena swore she could feel the earth moving beneath her and oddly enough above her. Someone, probably the whacked-out Arlene herself, had spent lots of time, money, and effort it appeared renovating the adjoining tunnels for some twisted purpose.

  She’d taken a knife from the kitchen in the upstairs of the house along with the flashlight and fire place poker she still carried, and then she had tried to find a way out of the maze of tunnels.

  She’d no idea how long she had been at in, but with every step she had the horrifying, sinking sensation that time was running out, that around any corner she might run into the Master with its elongated worm-like body coated with slime, and that he was already searching for her.

  Must keep going, she told herself over the pounding of her pulse. However she was exhausted, only getting through this on adrenaline and shear fear.

  As her lungs filled with the dust and dirt in the tunnel, she swung the beam of her flashlight over the walls and ceiling. Spurs ran off the main underground corridor, nevertheless most of them had been blocked, the entrances filled with rocks and huge chunks of slime, the same gelatin-like substance that she’d seen in the photos. From the amount of dirt and dust that had accumulated, Deena assumed the Master did not use these tunnels anymore, that they weren’t his escape route.

  She had to work slowly, so as not to get lost, and she had marked her path with a stone she’d found, scratching the floor of the tunnels with arrows, reminding Deena of which path she had followed and all the while, she knew that time was her enemy; at any second the monster could return.