by Matt Cole
A few bats were flitting about, disturbed for the first time. To the left, a vast white pillar extended from floor to roof. It was pure white and about five feet in diameter all the way up. It was fluted, fretted, draped and spangled. She never in her life saw anything more chaste and unsightly. Deena thought of the countless ages it must have taken to form that monument: of the streams of clear water that had fallen and left their calcite deposits, while it grew year after year, age after age, century after century, in this profound darkness, disturbed by no noises save the rhythmic sound of the falling drops and the dull flitting of the bats, who alone were the living witnesses of its construction.
It was here that the demonic creature fell on top of her, and her face was no longer hidden by the dark. The beast’s many tentacles and other appendages straddled her. Deena’s body moved against the creatures, and she grinned down at it, her short blonde hair falling into its face. Deena reached up to push it back, away from her.
She walked in darkness, sure that her destination laid at the end of the tunnel. There was no light, nothing leading her onward except her certainty that the monster of all her dread lay ahead. She could not imagine what the beast had in store for her. The ground was smooth, then slick with slime and blood, but she clawed for purchase, she refused to let it end her life.
A coolness spread through her, quenching the fires that burned in her veins, and the darkness dissolved into soft red light.
The water pressed in around her, squeezing the breath and life from her, and she kicked furiously to reach the exit, or surface. Her lungs screamed for air, but the water was getting deeper, darker, she was no longer sure she swam in the right direction. Was there a hint of light above her, a faint glow in the blackness? She kicked harder, but something tangled her legs, seaweed or—
—Tentacles.
The tentacles were oily and shiny, drops of slime spackling the puddles. Adrenaline had her senses working double-time. Deena felt like she was in a graphic novel. She drew a great gasping breath, but the tentacles still held her, drew her in, then she was looking into a single great staring eye.
She got a glimpse into the tunnel. It was huge and black and smells of old mud and death.
Deena clambered down into the darkness, groping for handholds, and landing solidly on the tunnel’s dirt floor. A rush of excitement. She was in. But it also hit her that her that she was not alone.
And she was walking the tunnel, smooth rock strewn walls stretching as far below as she could see. Straight corridors crossed and branched, and again she knew that everything she wanted was waiting for him at the exit from these tunnels—like the citizens of Strafford, then Pennsylvania, the United States, and finally the world. Deena wandered and wandered, then the tunnel maze was turned into a labyrinth, and she stumbled along, weak from hunger and thirst, half-blinded from pain.
She fell, gravel pressing into her cheek. She did not think she could stand again. Feet crunched the gravel.
The days and nights blurred together. Weeks might have passed, but she could not track the time. Her legs went numb and she lurched. Every muscle, already weak from hunger, felt too stiff to move. A jolt of pain ran up her leg as she fell on a rock, which buckled under her. Deena felt like a captured beast, harried by goads and unable to fight back. She roared in pain and fury, and the air shook with her scream.
A shadow passed over her, and then it—the creature—blocked her path. Black goo burped and oozed from its mouth, and its bony limbs spread wide and high as the walls of the tunnel would allow. It was armed with sharp teeth.
Deena Hopping would not back down. She could escape, against all odds. The monstrosity reared up, glistening slime seeped down the edges of every bone, black tar-like goo continued to ooze from its mouth. It forelimbs fell back to the ground, and for a moment Deena thought the they would collapse under it, but the monster fell into a crouch instead, ready to pounce.
The beast breathed first, spitting black goo engulfing Deena, searing her skin and sapping her strength still more. It was excruciating pain, wracking her body and bringing Deena to her knees. Suddenly Deena saw the monster for what it was—one of the most ancient creatures in the world, preserved beyond even the tremendous natural lifespan of fabled mythological monsters for what might have been hundreds or even thousands of years. Inconceivable power was bound to its blackened bones.
The beast had flowing tentacles and pulpy gray-black, elongated sack of a body...no distinguishing features at all other than the reaching, groping tentacles. Or was there—yes—a lump in the upper body of the thing...a container of sorts for the brain, basal ganglia, or whichever diseased organ governed this horror’s loathsome life!
The pain ebbed, and Deena somehow found strength to regain her feet. She fell forward, onto her face, and was still.
In this moment of shock, a cartilaginous tentacle coiled around her again, pinning her arms to her sides and lifting her off the ground. The beast’s touch was icy cold, and Deena’s strength and will drained out of her.
Then came a respite and the chance to escape—perhaps her only chance.
She would have to take it—no energy or not!
Chapter 35
Get moving!
Run!
Run for your life!
Run as fast as you can!
Now!
God, she was exhausted. She had never been so fatigued.
But somehow Deena kept going, flailing through the tunnels, panicked to the marrow of her bones.
Once she’d realized she was free of the monster’s grasp, she had snagged her jacket again, thrown it on, left the area where she and the creature had fought, and started running. Blindly. Crazily. Certain the beast was on her tail. She had no idea where she was and the tunnels afforded her little light, so she didn’t even know which direction she was heading.
She just ran.
As far and as fast as her battered body would allow.
But now the familiarity of the tunnels became unrecognizable and she had to stop, dragging in deep, painful breaths, needing to get her bearings. Deena had to take stock and start thinking like a fighter or a survivor and not like a victim as she had been.
Squeezing her eyes shut tight, she grimaced, forcing the panic and pain to the back of her consciousness, trying like hell to find calmness, the cold, calculating side of her brain, all of her strength. She fought the urge to flee like a crazy person.
Sheer terror would not help her find an escape.
Think, Deena, think.
She opened her eyes. Took another calming breath. Felt the sweat run down her face.
Already she’d made a mistake.
Her tracks would be visible in the tunnels to the monster, she thought.
Whenever the son of a bitch returned, all it had to do was follow the broken trail of her tracks. It wouldn’t be hard for an underground creature like it.
Swearing under her breath, swiping the dirt from her eyes and pulling up the hood of her jacket, she stared at her all-too-visible tracks miserably.
Her tracks might as well have been marked with a bright neon sign: This way to Deena Hopping.
Pull it together, Deena, or else you will be eaten alive or simply just die inside these tunnels if you not from the monster or exhaustion, then from your own damned stupidity.
No way could she keep from making the tracks to cover them.
She had to go back. Circle around. Make it at least look like she was heading back toward the basement, then double back around hopefully to find another escape route. The problem with this plan was that she was completely lost. Deena had no concept of how far below ground she truly was.
Shaking, her body aching, she was frightened.
But she had little choice, in reality. To save herself. To escape a certain death. She had to find it inside her to fight and survive.
* * * *
Gary Chapel straddled the stool next to Mike Leopold’s. They were at the bend in the bar in Chapel’s hou
se, farthest from the door, only a few feet from the rest of the team. Christmas music played on a boom box that was on the bar. Leopold, along with several members of the team, were nursing beers and staring glumly into his near-empty bottles.
“This is it,” Leopold muttered.
“Fucking A right,” Chapel said, shaking off the remnants of his beer and nerves. “You ready?”
Leopold eyed Chapel. “I don’t think we have much of a choice if we want to save this town and its people.”
“Oh, yeah.” Chapel shuddered. Took another drink.
Dan Roberts, a local carpenter and well-known hunter, his suspenders stretched tight over his huge belly, swaggered in to a stool near Chapel. “We doin’ this or not?”
“Hell, yes!” Chapel tossed back his drink and slid a glance toward Leopold, who nodded. With a fresh drink, Chapel warmed up. “If we’re all ready, there is no time to waste. Let’s get this operation under way.”
Leopold nodded again, and took a drink.
“Let’s hunt this killer down!” the team screamed in unison.
About damned time. Mike Leopold thought, this is what he had waited years for. Revenge.
Justice for his family…
Gary Chapel stumbled away from the bar. Two of the team members caught him before he fell to the floor.
“He’s not hunting down anything in his condition,” the larger of the two said.
Mike Leopold nodded. “We can let him sleep it off while we set up around town. We don’t even know where this thing may pop up at. So, leave him and let’s go.”
The team left Chapel on the sofa to sleep off his drunkenness. It was not long after the team had left that someone entered the house. Normally Chapel would have been on guard and his senses were honed to listen for signs of intruders. He was a cop after all. Yet he was barely conscious at the moment.
He heard a woman ask, “Do you want to see Deena Hopping? She wants to see you.”
When she mentioned Deena Hopping, Gary felt an immense sense of emotions, love, lust, and care for her. His eyes filled and his nose clogged. Gary Chapel was an emotional drunk. He tried to pull his arms away from the woman in his house, but they were weighed down like with a heavy anchor.
“Take it easy.” The woman had cautioned him.
“Where are we goin’?”
“To see Deena.”
Gary Chapel knew something was not right with the situation. He wanted to scream out and warm his teammates. Where were they?
He heard the door open to the house.
The woman’s voice became rough and said, “We’re close now.”
They walked to the middle of the road, then across again on winding streets. After a while he thought he may fall over. She eased him forward, and then tried to keep him upright.
Chapel didn’t know where he was or what they were doing, but he was suddenly scared. His mind began to clear a tad and he knew something was off. He had not seen the woman yet, and the thought of seeing her frightened him for some odd reason. It could have been the alcohol? He didn’t want to see her. He didn’t want to see any of this. He had had enough. Chapel wanted to go back home.
“I’m out of here,” he stammered.
Suddenly a hood was pulled over his head. He felt a slimy rope wrap around him preventing him from moving. Chapel tried to twist away, but was held tight.
It happened as fast as anything he’d ever seen. He was scooped up and carried through the air and then pulled down harshly, still being held so tight that he couldn’t make a sound. Whatever had him would not let go. He kicked and struggled as he was pushed into a dirt filled area, he could feel the earth scratch his arms. He tried to sit up, but he was pushed down again. He was dropped hitting the ground hard.
Chapel struggled to listen.
Something hard and strong raked over him with a scratchy claw like feel to it.
Chapel realized what was happening with an explosion of horror. He slammed the sides of his dirt prison, but he couldn’t get out. The sounds that rained down on him grew further away as the rocks and dirt piled deep above him. Gary Chapel was buried in the earth.
The monster had him.
Chapter 36
Sweat stinging her eyes, gasping for air, Deena rounded the corner in the tunnel as dirt and dust blew all around her and the air was playing havoc with her hair. She had the awful, raw taste of earth in her mouth. She spied two large piles of slime or gelatin and the remnants of humans inside them.
Her heart sank.
Surely the people inside—whom she did not recognize—were dead.
Deena pictured other victims, all without a stitch of clothes on, their bodies being eroded away inside these massive gelatin and slime cubes. She was left to wonder why the creature had to encase its victims in this slime.
“You fucking son of a bitch!” she bit out, forcing her teeth not to allow anymore dirt to enter her mouth as she struggled toward through the tunnels.
There were no landmarks to give her some indication of where she was.
But you are mine, Deena. There is no escaping me.
The tunnels were riddled with twists and turns left over from a bygone era, but most of them were small and hard for Deena to enter.
Not this one.
It was large.
Those tunnels weren’t the work of one monster. The creature might have reinforced some; it had been obvious the beast had spent many years down below Strafford. But the original mines shafts had been taken over and additional tunnels bore off of them.
She knew some of the history of the area, the names of those who had first laid claim to the land, become rich, but most of them had moved on.
She kept her eyes on the tunnel, staying close, careful not to fall into another sinkhole and she had to navigate the rough, rocks, boulders, and roots hidden in the tunnels.
A hot wind scuttled through the barren tunnels, cutting through her, slapping her face. She was sweating so badly, she had trouble thinking, and in the near blackness the going was slow, treacherous, the path in the tunnel becoming more and more obscured.
She had to keep moving, ignore the pain, dirt, and sweat in her fingers, the heat that bit at the back of her neck.
Her heart drummed.
What if the monster was coming back?
Deena started down another tunnel, rounding a corner and spying another gelatin cube.
Her heart skipped a beat.
The tunnel lead directly to an open area and a small underground lake was visible.
She was dying of thirst and she half ran to the water.
But before she could reach the water she heard a faint noise…a rumble that broke the stillness of the water. She stopped dead in her tracks.
The little hairs on the back of her arms lifted as the noise, the sound of a wave crashing coupled with the growling of a lion reached her ears.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered as the ghostly image of a large dragon-octopus hybrid type of creature appeared through the veil of water. She had nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.
The monster was there.
* * * *
“Help!”
Gary Chapel pressed his ear to the opening of the tunnel he found himself in, but all he heard was a faraway shush like when you hold a seashell to your ear.
He cupped his hands around his mouth.
“Can anyone hear me?”
No one answered.
A light had appeared over Gary’s head then, shining like a faraway star. A hole had developed near his location.
“I’m down here! Help me! Help!”
No one answered.
“Help!”
Gary Chapel ripped his hands and arms free, then freaked when he discovered he was still unable to escape completely. That is when he saw it a reddish creature is about two feet long and as thick as a person’s arm, with no discernible limbs, head end, or tail end. The creature thrashed around like a worm on a hot sidewalk.
The beast spit slim
e and goo from what Chapel thought was its mouth although it resembled no mouth he had ever seen before.
One of the smaller appendages from the monster came close to his foot and touched him causing him to jump as if ten thousand volts amped through his body. This allowed him to free the rest of his body.
Chapel scrambled backwards, slipping and sliding with no place to go. This wasn’t real! He was trapped in a nightmare!
The beast seemed to grin nastily, and then touched him again creating another electric shock.
But before he could run too far away strange little, eyeless creatures rushed to encircle him and began to bind him with slimy lassos. Chapel was not going without a fight.
He used all his might and threw his arms out in an effort to free himself from the binds.
The straps binding his arms and legs gave way and he leapt to his feet. The figures standing round him were frozen in shock. Before they could attempt to hold him down, he bolted for another tunnel and ran faster than he had ever run before. Something was flowing around his body, carrying him at a speed he never thought possible, something that had been explained to him many times before that he didn’t want to believe—adrenaline created by shear fear.
The beast lunged at him.
Chapel threw his arms over his head. He screamed as the razor-sharp tentacles dug into his leg.
He fell hard and tumbled.
Chapel found himself curled into a ball, cowering now. He blinked into the darkness of the tunnels, listening. He was alone. Had it all been a nightmare?
No, he could still feel the sharp pain of the tentacles in his thigh.
He rolled on his side, and the sharp thing bit deeper.
“Ouch! Fuck!”
He felt to see what was sticking him. It was the remnant of the bony end of the tentacle. He took it out, and traced the wound with his finger. It looked as if it would become infected immediately.
He knew if he were to live he would have to get out of the beast’s liar and fight it on his terms.
He ran.
Gary Chapel pushed faster and harder, his arms pumping like pistons. Tiny bits of dirt fell behind him in the darkness.
